


Theirs would be the song of ice and fire.

by Cuculama



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-01-21 11:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuculama/pseuds/Cuculama
Summary: "Melissandre had spoken about the prince that was promised when she had visited her in Dragonstone and her brother had believed in a similar prophecy too, convinced that his son Aegon would be the hero to bring the Dawn. However, Rhaegar and Aegon had perished during Robert’s Rebellion. But she hadn’t and where others had failed, she had awakened dragons from stone to fight their final enemy, and she wasn’t alone. Not anymore. She had found in Jon an equal, someone as tenacious as herself and a rekindled faith overran her. She believed in them. Their union would bring the dawn. Theirs would be the song of ice and fire."It starts right after Season 7 and it will continue until the very end. It mixes both things from the books and the series, but the arcs are mostly from the series.





	1. Daenerys I

**DAENERYS I**

 

She was walking along the corridors inside the house with the red door in Braavos. She could smell the sea saltpetre scent reaching from outside the windows mixed with the citric perfume of the lemon trees blossoming in summer. She stopped to inhale the aroma and smiled: Dany felt safe and at home. A wistful melody invaded every corner of the house and her soul; the slow and deliberated rhythm of a song was coming out from the door of the room that had once belonged to her brother Viserys. She followed the haunting notes towards the old wooden threshold. She could feel her body filling with anticipation as she pushed the door to open it. Before her there was a comely young man playing his dragon-shaped harp and singing words familiar to her, although she wouldn’t be able to remember them later. Tears started to pool in her wet eyes, as she understood who was the silver-haired man in front of her. She could remember the stories told by Ser Barristan Selmy about her brother and his likings: ‘ _Rhaegar never liked killing. He loved singing’_. She let herself enjoy the view of his brother pouring his soul out through his voice before she decided to step closer to look him in the eyes. However, just before she could do as she intended, a shadow, unnoticed until then by Daenerys, emerged from behind her, exiting the balcony that overlooked the Narrow Sea and walking towards Rhaegar to sit beside him on the bench. Daenerys observed the woman’s figure trying to guess who she might be. She took a seat with her back towards Daenerys so she couldn’t see her face and yet a quick answer formed in her mind after throwing a look to her long, curly, black hair. ‘ _Elia Martell_ ’ she thought. Suddenly, the Crown Prince stopped playing his harp to caress one of her loose locks. Daenerys could sense her brother's bright happiness when he lowered his hand to fondly touch the woman’s belly.

“Aegon. What better name for a king?” the woman announced taking Rhaegar’s hand in hers. “Will you make a song for him?” the woman asked. Rhaegar’s face changed into a solemn expression.

“He has a song,” the man replied. “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.”

He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there right at the door.

“There must be one more,” he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bench she could not say. “The dragon has three heads.”

 _“The dragon has three heads”_ echoed in her mind. The words struck her with a pain she didn’t thought capable of feeling in such a loving scenario. “The dragon has three heads” she thought to herself as he looked at her with his indigo eyes trying to communicate with her, despite the stifling burden that had set in her heart and that threatened to suffocate her. Daenerys’ eyes misted over.

“The dragon has three heads” she replied “but there are only two left now”.

Rhaegar stared at her with a loving half smile before turning back to pick up the harp again and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Daenerys sighted and silently began to cry. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to wake her up from the vision.

* * *

A freezing shiver ran through her spine as she came back from the dream. She breathed heavily twice trying to calm her pulse and her sudden sadness. She felt cold and reached with her hand for her fur blanket only to find a warm body lying beside her. She opened her eyes suddenly remembering the events of the evening and who was sleeping in her bed.

“What were you dreaming about? It seemed to upset you” a sweet and husky voice asked, shaking her from the last bits of unconsciousness. “Are you alright?”

She turned slowly, finally facing Jon as he hesitantly stroked her silver hair. She locked her eyes with his and, slowly, she put up a sad smile in her face, nodding.

“Yes, I am. I was dreaming about my brother, Rhaegar. I never met him”. Jon stirred to face her, lying on his side.

“Then how do you know it was him?”

Daenerys chuckled.

“He had his characteristic indigo eyes. Everybody I’ve met that knew him told me about his eyes. And he was playing his harp and singing” she finished laughing.

“He doesn’t seem to live up to the true image of a Targaryen warrior” Jon laughed with her.

“Ser Barristan Selmy told me once that he used to sneak with Rhaegar through the streets in King’s Landing to protect him while he sang to the people. He never liked killing, he’d rather sing and play his harp. Apparently, he was pretty good.”

“That tale doesn’t agree with the idea taught to the kids in the North about the last Targaryen prince” Jon replied.

He hadn’t meant it with resentment, but his voice had darkened and Daenerys could sense his body tensing right across the tiny space that separated them. After her dream she much needed him to warm up her bed and her soul and she wasn’t going to let their families’ old fights ruin the…

“But perhaps we shall be examining what we think we know” he added softly interrupting her thoughts and bringing her on top of him.

She giggled clearly relieved and moved by the words that Jon had spoken. Those were the words she had told him four (was it five?) months ago back in the long stairs that welcome the imposing fortress of Dragonstone when she had tried to follow Tyrion’s advise of “taking a step towards a more productive relationship with a possible ally”, as he had put it. How frustrating Jon had acted! And how wrong she had been! Now she knew: everything he had told her in the throne room during their first meeting was true: the squabbling for the Iron Throne was nothing compared to the threat in the North. Cersei and her schemes were insignificant; she could have ended her false reign with her dragons hadn’t she cared about the innocent lives living in the capital. Sometimes, Daenerys wondered if setting her a trap and killing her during the Dragon Pit meeting wouldn’t have been a better idea. Drogon’s fangs or flash would have been enough. They wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore. But, no, she understood that they needed her support, even though her army had been lessened after the Blackwater rush ambush to a great extent, every little man they could use against the Night King and his army of ghouls was as valuable as the obsidian lying under Dragonstone and being transported with them to Winterfell. Furthermore, Daenerys was trying to separate herself from the kind of people that Cersei Lannister represented and she knew that slaughtering the Lannisters mercilessly wouldn’t help her cause of breaking the wheel and creating a new and fairer world. Moreover, Daenerys respected Tyrion immensely; she cared enough for him not to want to cause him pain and she knew that deep down, her Hand resented himself for the crimes he thought he had committed against his family and somehow blamed himself for the death of his niece and nephew, which had led, ultimately, to the end of his House. So she had found herself willing to spare as many Lannister as she could if only for him. She didn’t wish upon anybody the raw despair she felt on being the last member of her House. Carrying the burden of such a legacy could wear out even the strongest of the spirits. However, there was something else, although she hadn’t wanted to admit it, not even to herself, but true all the same. Jon had set high expectation in her persona and she didn’t want to let him down, not after his pledge on the boat back from Eastwatch. She wanted to be deserving of his loyalty.

She had felt the growing attraction between the King in the North and herself, believing at first that it was due to his obvious beauty and his sheer sincerity, never bending his will. However, after their small conversation inside the dragonglass cave she had started to feel something else, something deeper that if anything had only grown stronger after she came back from the battle. The King in the North had been waiting on top of a cliff, facing the wind and she had found herself tilting over Drogon’s back to indicate him to land on that very same cliff. She had wanted to impress Jon and in return it had been him who had surprised her. A nostalgic feeling had invaded her when she saw Jon petting her child. Something moved her, like a waking call. After that, the events that followed had fallen into a downward spiral, sinking her in a turmoil, where only her grief and lost could compare to the passion she was starting to feel towards Jon Snow. She had found herself searching for his dark eyes for comfort after the lost of Viserion and now staring at them she kept looking for reassurance and love. Their private conversation in the Dragon Pit had unleashed her emotions and when he had knocked on her cabin’s door a few hours ago she had known all precaution was long gone. His unerring affection made her feel like falling, but she knew that even in the darkest depths he would be there to catch her.

As if confirming her thoughts, Jon began to stroke her face. The soft touch of his thumb rubbing her left cheek was warm and easing and she wished they could stay in her cabin forever and forget about the world and the impeding threat to life itself.

“I grew up learning the great feats of the Targaryen warriors. I would play with my sister Arya and pretend I was one of the dragon lords” he chortled.

Daenerys straightened a bit, holding her body weight in her elbows and placed her chin between her hands. “Who would you be? Aegon the Conqueror?” she asked infected by his relaxed mood. He shook his head.

“Daeron the Young Dragon.” He answered while he stretched out. His hands descended over her back to rest in her waist, leaving trails over her soft skin, something that Daenerys definitely noticed.

“He was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne, achieving something not even Aegon I could do. Although, he lost it some time after, along with his life and around sixty thousand men” he frowned. “Now that I think about it I should have set for Daeron II, who died after a long, peaceful and plentiful reign for the Realm”. He added caught in half a laugh.

Daenerys was perplexed by his wide knowledge of the Targaryen history. She knew her ancestors because Viserys used to tell her the great deeds of her House, although she had learnt with time no to trust blindly everything that had come out of his mouth. She could remember bits and pieces of Daeron II’s reign. He had been the one that finally joined Dorne to the Seven Kingdoms by marrying his sister Daenerys to a Dornish prince.

“You seem to be an expert in the matter. How did you come to know all of it? Did your maesters teach you all of that?”

“Why, of course. I studied under Maester Luwin’s supervision and he made sure Robb read and learnt about the history of our country and its rulers. Father wanted me to have the same education as his trueborn children, so I did too. Maester Luwin used to remind us how lucky we were to have in our possession one the rare volumes of _The Lives of Four Kings_ by Grand Maester Kaeth as there are only a few left in the known world. However, Robb and I disagreed” he chuckled.

“Would I be able to read it once we reach Winterfell?” Daenerys asked fascinated. She had always been keen on history, though she hadn’t had a proper education, and knowing there were books somewhere in the world where she could learn more about her long lost family excited her.

“There have been a couple of fires in Winterfell after I read it, but if it is still out there, I’ll have Maester Wolkan look it for you” he said leaning upwards to capture her lips with his.

She gave into his kiss and pushed him up, forcing him to sit. She ended up resting in his lap, her legs falling off the edges of his legs. The fur slipped down uncovering their naked bodies, which shivered in unison. Instinctually, she moved closer to his bare chest. She had noticed the weather changing after she had set sail from Meereen and during her scarce time in Westeros. She had sensed how the days grew shorter and darker, and she had needed to start wearing heavier clothes she had never worn before. She knew winter was here, but she also knew she didn’t know how they would survive it if it became as cold as the temperatures she had experienced beyond the Wall. She had always been warmer than the rest of the people she knew, her corporal temperature a few degrees hotter as her dragon blood ran through her veins. The cold hadn’t been part of her worries, but after she had caught a glimpse of the sort of cold the Night King brought with him she knew it was part of his deathly power, unknown to human kind and devastating. She had had the opportunity to feel it in her bones during the short instances that lasted her encounter with the Army of Death before the Night King killed her dragon as easily as she could smash a beetle. After Viserion’s death she had felt nothing, but an impending sense of doom, only partly soothed by Jon Snow’s miraculously return to Eastwatch. ' _The dragon has three heads'_  she remembered suddenly. She was the Mother of Dragons, mother of three, but she had failed them. She couldn’t protect the most precious gifts this world possessed and now because of her naivety and arrogance she had lost one of her children. Daenerys felt her eyes clouding, overwhelmed by the feeling. She noticed Jon leaning backwards while he gently grabbed both sides of her face.

“Daenerys?” he asked hesitantly. “What is it?” His eyes were searching for an answer. “Is it something I have done?”

She could feel his penetrating gaze and the worry in his voice. “I am sorry” she replied choking with emotion. “It is just the dream I had” she explained.

“I thought you were dreaming about your brother. Does it upset you?”

Daenerys shook her head. “No, it was something that he said.”

She sighted considering whether to tell him or not. But he was watching her, tender eyes waiting for her to continue. So she steadied herself and spoke.

“I was back in the house in Braavos where I used to live with my brother and Ser Willem Darry after we went into exile. The house with the red door and the lemon tree was probably the only place where I ever felt safe during my childhood” she fondly explained. “Viserys used to let me sneak into his bed at night and he would tell me stories about our family. However, this time it wasn’t Viserys who I found in his old room. It was Rhaegar and a woman I suppose was Elia Martell as they were talking about their child Aegon.” She decided to omit the part where Rhaegar claimed him to be the prince to be promise, aware of Jon’s dislike for prophecies. “At some point he looked at me and said ‘the dragon has three heads’, but that can no longer be because there are no longer three dragon. There are only two left”. She finished, failing to hold back the tears. She lowered her eyes trying to compose herself, although she could sense Jon’s eyes fixed in her.

“Daenerys” he whispered. “Look at me” he pleaded. His husky voice was a balm healing her aching heart. “I am so sorry. I know that I said it before and I never mentioned it again because I didn’t know what to say to comfort you. Had I knew the outcome of the expedition I would have never gone. Cersei’s armies and support are nothing compared to your dragons, and not because of their power of destruction, but because what they mean to you. They are your children.” Daenerys was left speechless. “It killed me to see the pain Viserion’s death caused you and I don’t want you to go through that again.”

“Jon, listen” she interrupted grabbing his hands. “I know that you feel responsible for what happened north of the Wall. But you didn’t kill my dragon. The Night King did. You risked your life so we could escape and I honour what you did. It was a damned heroic thing that bought us time to run away. I was sincere when I told you that we were going to defeat him and his army, and intend to do it with you. Together. I named Viserion after my brother, so he could be strong where Viserys was weak and so he would help me achieve my fate, to sit in the Iron Throne, like Viserys never accomplished. But now I see it clearly. I didn’t bring dragons back to life so I could win a seat made of melted swords. I… my dragons and I serve a higher purpose, and so do you. You and I have a part to play in the Great War. We are here to defend the realms of men and we will do it together and by doing it we will honour Viserion’s sacrifice.”

She had spoken with emotion, but after every word she had pronounced she was left filled with a new determination that was driving her. Melissandre had spoken about the prince that was promised when she had visited her in Dragonstone and her brother had believed in a similar prophecy too, convinced that his son Aegon would be the hero to bring the Dawn. However, Rhaegar and Aegon had perished during Robert’s Rebellion. But she hadn’t and where others had failed, she had awakened dragons from stone to fight their final enemy, and she wasn’t alone. Not anymore. She had found in Jon an equal, someone as tenacious as herself and a rekindled faith overran her. She believed in them. Their union would bring the dawn. Theirs would be the song of ice and fire.

She kissed him fiercely, making him lean back until he was lying on the bed and kept kissing him until exhaustion tired them out. Later, back again in the oneiric misty lands, she didn’t dream of Rhaegar. Instead she found herself walking along a frozen wasteland, where a blue winter rose grew from a chink in a wall while a distant wolf howled filling the air with sweetness.


	2. Tyrion I

 

**TYRION I**

He could hear the murmur of the ship occupants doing their chores and in spite of its quiet tone he felt every sound hitting his head as a hammer. ‘I thought we’ve got past hangover, my Lord Hand’ he thought to himself. He had been drinking the previous night. Not simply drinking, as his new habits seemed to go, but drinking, getting wasted to oblivion. ‘Fuck’ he concluded. It had been a long time since the last time he had got lost in alcohol to that extend and for a moment he worried. He had felt upset when he saw Jon Snow entering Daenerys’ cabin last night, but he knew he shouldn’t let himself lose the composure because of a light affair. The problem was, however, he reminded himself, that it wasn’t just an affair. He had been watching them closely and he had been able to observe the growing attraction and respect forming in the young leaders’ minds and hearts. They were both young and beautiful, and they held a similar position of power. It was expected. Moreover, he had subtlety encouraged their relationship because in the end it would serve their purpose. However, what he got was something completely different: they were in love, both of them. He had mischievously hoped that Jon Snow would sooner or later fall for their Queen. How could he not when she was everything one could wish? It would have helped to rally the North behind the Targaryen banners once again. But the Queen had eventually fallen too. A miscalculation problem that soon proved to be significant. He had known Jon Snow when he travelled with him to the Night’s Watch and he knew him to be handsome and a good lad. Even so, the man that landed in the shores of Dragonstone not only was all of those things, but he was now a man, a leader and one very tenacious in his mission. He had had the guts to defy her in her throne room and live to tell it. ‘Impressive’ he remembered he had thought. He should have known then that it would become a problem because if he knew Daenerys, and he thought he did, there was nothing that could trigger and draw her more than a challenge. ‘So probably this is all my fault’ he sighted.

He resisted leaving the bed for a couple of more minutes, but the swinging of the vessel didn’t help and he decided that it would be beyond embarrassing to be found by the help covered in his own vomit lying on the bed. So he stood up and walked to the clay basin to wash him before leaving his cabin. It was still early in the morning, but the sun, or what seemed to be it, had begun shining through the portholes of the ship, lighting the inside of the vessel with a faint bluish brightness. He was about to go upstairs to the deck to breath some fresh air in hopes that it would help him easy his hangover when he saw some light at the end of the corridor. It was the improvised council room they had set in the ship and he wondered who could be the one using it at this early hour. He walked to the room and he was received with an unexpected image. Across the room, he could see Daenerys sitting in one of the velvet armchairs that occupied the room. She had a relaxed position, resting her tiny body in one of the arms of the couch, knees folded and legs falling to the chair she had strategically placed next to the armchair to extend its surface. She was engrossed in an old volume and hadn’t noticed his presence yet. He doubted for a few seconds whether to disturb her or not, and he decided the latter so he could observe this strange vision a little longer. She was wearing one of her characteristic grey dresses, the ones she would wear to impress, but her hair was falling loose, not a braid to be seen in the silver cascade that it was. It was a sweet contrast he was not used to.

“It is very difficult to read when someone is observing you, Lord Tyrion” a voice woke him from his stupor. She spoke firmly, but when she finally raised her eyes to meet his, Tyrion saw she was actually smiling.

“Apologies, your grace. I didn’t want to disturb you,” he said approaching her. “What are you reading?” he asked moving one of the chairs to sit beside her.

“It is one of the books Ser Jorah gifted me on my wedding with Drogo. It’s been a while since I read it,” she said handing it over to her Hand. Tyrion grabbed the book delicately as it seemed very old and read the title ‘ _Songs and histories of the Seven Kingdoms_ ’.

“Did you find something interesting?” he smiled giving it back to the Queen. “I read it when I was young and it is nothing more than myths and legends, your grace”.

“Like fire-breathing dragons, white walkers and wights?” she inquired furrowing her brow.

“I suppose not.”

“I have been thinking about the Red Priestess’ words lately and how they seem to have a further meaning that we expected at the time” she continued as trying to explain why she was reading the book.

“ _The prince, or princess_ ” he emphasised this last bit “ _that was promised who will bring the Dawn_? Is that what worries you? To be part of a prophecy?” he asked half-caught in a laugh.

“It was not the first time we had heard those words, my old friend” a shadowy voice came from the door’s threshold. They both turned to see Varys walking to join them. He sat with his back straight in a chair next to Tyrion. “The High Red Priestess of the Red Temple in Volantis, Kinvara, spoke similar words when we summoned her to Meereen. ‘ _Daenerys Stormborn is the one who was promised, from the fire she was reborn to remake the world_ ’ she claimed, if I remember correctly” he added inclining his head to one side.

Tyrion was impressed. “That was very…” he struggled to find a word. “…Accurate” he finally set for.

“Why wasn’t I informed of such a thing?” Daenerys glowered at Tyrion.

“Excuse us, Your Grace, but we didn’t think that it was as relevant as now it seems to be” Varys apologised dragging his words, helping Tyrion out.

Tyrion nodded, confirming Varys’ words. He hadn’t given a second thought to that statement and by the time Melissandre had spoken similar words too, he had had the feeling he had heard it somewhere before, but he couldn’t put two and two together. He stared at Daenerys wondering why it was troubling her.

“Why are you pondering about ‘the one who was promised’, your grace?” Tyrion asked voicing his inner thoughts. He tried to sound solemn to invite her to speak.

“I had a dream about it,” she simply answered. She wasn’t going to say another word about it.

“Didn’t you sleep well?” Tyrion ventured. He knew he was being bold, that if she understood what he was implying she would be furious, but her calm tone when she spoke indicated that she had no clue about his intentions.

“No, I did sleep wonderfully” she replied with a smile. “I didn’t get to sleep much, but the scarce time I slept, it was refreshing” she finished.

Or maybe she did know about his intentions.

“And what got you out of bed so early in the morning, your grace?” Varys asked with caution.

‘Does he know too?’ Tyrion wondered. He wouldn’t be surprised if he knew. He valued his friend’s ability to spread his nets and learn about everything that had happened, was happening and was about to happen even before those who where involved could. ‘A true spider’ he conceded.

“I was thinking about the Targaryens of old and I ended up reading the Targaryen family tree,” she said pointing at a black book discarded on the table a few metres away “I had to stop reading it. It was infuriating,” she said calmly. However, she seemed to change her mind because she stood up to reach it. “I found it in the library in Dragonstone. It was incomplete, not even a single reference to the last events occurred to my House” she said bitterly.

Varys extended his right hand requesting her to pass the book over. “I see what you mean, your grace.” He said passing it over to Tyrion, who grabbed the book with his tiny hands, after studying the page where it was opened.

Tyrion examined the book and followed the lines that fell under Aerys II and his sister-wife, Queen Rhaella, to find only two names written: Rhaegar and Viserys. “This can be amended, your grace,” he said sympathetically. “It is only one of copies of House Targaryen’s family tree. The one in Casterly Rock and the volumes in King’s Landing included you.”

“It is not only that.” She said as she walked towards a wooden bookcase. She bended down and took another volume, bigger and older. She brought it to the small circle they had formed with their chairs and opened the book in front of them. She held it like that and offered it to them. Tyrion could recognise the style of the book as one of Grand Maester Maellon.

“ _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_?” he asked. She nodded confirming his guessing.

“Do you know what it says about the ending of my family?” she muttered. “Allow me to spare you the time to read it. It says nothing. Not a word on how we were pushed into exile or slaughtered” she continued barely holding her rage. She turned to face Varys. “You once told me that Robert Baratheon was never cruel. Explain this to me, Lord Varys, what word would you use to describe a man who ordered the murdering of infants in their beds?” she asked enraged.

“My queen, when he gave the order to have you kill…” he tried to explain himself but was interrupted by Daenerys.

“I am not talking about myself. I am talking about the murdering of my niece, Rhaenys, and my nephew, Aegon, along with their mother Elia Martell.” She spat out. “What kind of a merciful king would do that?”

Tyrion became tense. He could feel the air burning with Daenerys’ agitation and given their recent record of fights, for once he was happy that her anger was directed to someone else.

“I must apology, my queen. The murdering of your brother’s children was never commanded by Robert Baratheon, as he wasn’t yet king.” He spoke with resolve. “But, yet, you are right. He never condemned their murders and he rewarded their assassins. Furthermore, he asked for your and your brother’s heads and forced you to exile. So, yes, you are right I should have never used that choice of words to refer to Robert Baratheon, not at least before you, who suffered the consequences of the action of people who were dead even before you were born” he conceded.

“Why did people support Roberts Baratheon’s ascension to the throne?” she asked needing to know. “Robert Baratheon’s and Tywin Lannister’s affronts against House Targaryen are inexcusable, but by the time the war was over, your brother’s son, Aegon, was already dead and the closest relative to your house was wryly Robert Baratheon. He had also won the Throne by right of conquest, so there wasn’t much to discuss on that matter. Had your nephew been alive, I strongly believe that many had supported his claim to the throne and he would have been crowned king. Probably you would have be queen too, as you two would have probably been wedded since you were closer in age than him and Rhaenys or you and Viserys,” he concluded, breathing with relief.

“Why would have he been crowned king?” she inquired. “Wasn’t my brother Viserys the appointed heir after Rhaegar’s death?”

Tyrion and Varys stared at each other confused. Rhaegar had carried the title of Prince of Dragonstone as heir to Aerys II. According to the Realm’s succession laws, the anointed heir’s male children would success after him in the circumstances of his premature death.

“After the death of Aegon, your brother Viserys became automatically the heir, your grace, and had House Targaryen held the crown, the king” Tyron explained. “That it was why he called himself king”.

“No” Daenerys said looking at him. “Ser Willem Darry told us that when Rhaegar died in the Trident, my father decided to appoint Viserys his heir, changing the line of succession. He was scared that the Dornish would turn against him, as had many of the other houses. That is the reason why he made my mother and brother leave for Dragonstone with the remaining loyalist they had left: he was trying to protect his legacy. My brother Viserys was crowned after the news of my father’s assassination reached Dragonstone. He appointed me his heiress, the Princess of Dragonstone, a title only another woman had held before me, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen” she assured them.

Tyrion reflected on what she had just said. His father had never mentioned Aerys disinheriting Rhaegar and his children and though it was a fact to be remembered to those passionate about History, the truth was that it didn’t matter anymore. They were all dead. Even so, he understood Daenerys’ necessity to certainty about her position in the world. She wore her titles as her armour; her identity had been the only thing she had had for a very long period of her life. Her faith in herself, in who she was, had allowed her to endure all the traumatic experiences she had suffered. So he did understand, how important was for her to have the facts rights about her family’s history.

“Ah… Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm’s Delight” Varys exclaimed. “You seem to know quite well the history of Westeros, my queen, but after the Dance of Dragons it was decreed that she should never be referred as queen in the chronicles”.

“History is written by the victors, Lord Varys, we should know that by now,” she answered with a gesture of her hands, which moved pointing the books. “And she died at the end the Dance of Dragons. Of course, they would decree it, after all Aegon the Elder and his supporters were traitors who betrayed their King and their own oaths,” she agreed condescendingly.

“Even if Aegon II won the war, eventually it was Rhaenyra’s child, Aegon the Younger, who sat in the Iron Throne. He could have made them change the decree.” Tyrion opined.

“Aegon was a frightened child who was forced to see his mother being devoured by her dragon and whose supporters were probably too tired of the destruction of the war to right the wrong committed against Rhaenyra. This detail might have skipped them, and most likely they thought that a woman wasn’t fit to rule. But you know, my Lords, we are here to right some wrongs” she said smiling.

She was right. Their priority upon arrival in Westeros had been to right the wrongs inflicted by the rich to the poor, for what she had needed to defeat Cersei, a task more formidable than expected. Furthermore, along the way to do so, differences in their approaches had arisen, distancing their partnership. They had started to fight and disagree more than was advisable and her latter attitude of never listening to him really got on his nerves.

“Rhaenyra was said to be cruel, ruthless and not a very good ruler…” Tyrion exclaimed, making Daenerys raise a brow.

“She was loved by her people, clever and educated and in spite of the conspiracies in his Small Council, her father appointed her his heiress because he saw something in her. Something that must have been clearly lacking in her brother Aegon if Viserys I decided to defy the lords and name his daughter Princess of Dragonstone” she argued back. “King Viserys I took a decision thinking on the best of the Realm. Rhaenyra would have been a great queen if she hadn’t been tormented by the death of her children, her dragon and the betrayal of those who had sworn to defend her right” she finished taking a seat. “Nobody would ever say Viserys I was a mad man and yet he try to break what was established to the benefit of the realm”.

Tyrion smiled. “So, you think he tried to break the wheel, in his own personal way?” he chuckled. She gave him a nod of assent.

“Sometimes a king, or a queen, must make a decision not everybody is going to understand. A decision that isn’t clear or shared, but that most likely would result in an improvement,” she continued looking at Tyrion. “Those decisions must be respected”.

He caught the hint. Tyrion could sense Varys tensing and straightening his back on the chair before excusing himself and leaving the room, under the pretext of giving the order to start preparing their breakfast.

“Maybe Viserys I wasn’t mad and his decision of naming Rhaenyra his heiress would have being proven wise, but your father was indeed mad and your brother turned out to be weak and cruel” he indicated after they were left alone.

“My brother wasn’t always cruel. He was a nice brother to me before we were kicked out to the streets and he had to sell my mother’s crown to feed me,” she explained. She seemed lost in her own thoughts for a while and Tyrion didn’t dare to interrupt whatever was going on in her head. “Probably that was the final push that drove him to madness. At some point I think I started to justify his resentment for me and somehow I assimilated why he did the things he did to me. I must have even forgiven him for selling me to Drogo. In his own twisted mind it was probably the only way to bring us home” she added with a sad note.

“Do you miss him?”

“Miss him? No, I don’t. Neither I regret not stopping Drogo when he killed him. He deserved to die after threatening my child. Rhaego would have been the future of our house and he didn’t care. He was beyond mad at that time, consumed by the longing for what he believed it was home.”

“And what is home for you, your grace?” he asked softly. He knew it was a dangerous place he was entering, but she seemed troubled and he had missed this sort of talking with her. He saw her reacting to his question, considering the answer.

“I don’t really know. I always thought that arriving in Dragonstone would feel like coming home, but it wasn’t as expected. Do not take me wrong. I felt a connection with the island where I was born, where my ancestors had lived before me. But that was it. There was nobody waiting for me,” she confessed finally.

‘Alone, she feels alone’ he thought to himself. ‘Maybe not anymore.’

She stood up to walk to one of the tables next to the door where there was a silver tray with a flagon of water. She poured herself a glass and offered him some too, which he gladly accepted remembering suddenly his sickening headache. He drank it in a sip, winning some extra time and courage to say what he wanted to say next.

“I know what happened last night,” he finally stated. She looked surprise for a while and then she stared at him waiting for him to explain himself. “I saw him knocking on your door, and though I must admit that for a second I believed that you would turn him down, I saw him entering your room and closing the door behind him. So please do not deny it”.

She was watching him, weighting up whether to be angry or not. She seemed to set for the latter, to Tyrion’s relief.

“I wasn’t going to deny it. Instead, perhaps I should ask what is your opinion on it, as it seems you already have one,” she remarked coolly.

Tyrion knew she was annoyed, but at least she was willing to listen to him.

“I know that you may think that I am meddling in it, and normally I wouldn’t say a word about the men you decide to bed, but this is entirely different. Jon Snow still holds a position of power in the North and if the Northerners find out what happened here, they would rage and rebel against you, and probably against him too. They would believe that he bent the knee because you seduced him and…” he tried to explained.

“But he had pledged himself to me before…” she didn’t manage to finish the sentence.

“It won’t matter to do them, your grace. You know it. They will cling into whatever excuse they might find to reject your claim. This would only add fuel to the fire!” She needed to understand what was a stake. “You have to be clever, and don’t let your feelings command you.”

Once the last word had left his mouth he knew he had committed a mistake. He saw her face shifting from slightly annoyance to contained fury.

“Is that what you think I am doing, letting my feelings command me?” she spat out.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “You are a clever woman, your grace, but lately you have been guiding yourself by your emotions and your impulsiveness…” he continued looking anywhere but to her eyes, which were afire.

“My impulsiveness?” she roared.

“Yes, you’ve acting impulsively in his regard, choosing to mishear Jorah’s advise to travel to Winterfell on Drogon and running to Jon Snow’s rescue losing in the attempt one of the dragons!” he shouted and immediately regretted his words. He knew his words had shocked her and he also knew that he had overstepped his limits. He had hurt her. Daenerys’ face was a livid mask of rage.

“Do not presume to tell me what the expedition to the north cost me, Tyrion Lannister. I know it very well myself,” she told him with a shaking voice. “Do not dare to blame me for the death of Viserion because I won’t have it”.

“Forgive me, your grace. I never meant to imply such a thing,” he apologised standing up and moving closer to her. “I want you to…”

“What is that you want, Lord Tyrion?”

“I want you to listen to me and consider your options before taking your final decision; not because I want to control you, but because I want to help you build the world you have envisioned. And for that I need you to be safe and alive, Daenerys” he cried out. His plea had taken effect on Daenerys, whose facial features started to relax after his sincere confession.

“Understand this now, Tyrion,” she told him mimicking the formula he had used to refer to her “I do listen to you. I value your advice and I weight all my options before I set for a decision. However, just because you are my Hand it doesn’t mean that I have to agree with everything you propose and do always as you say. I listened to your plan about the attack to Casterly Rock and the siege to King’s Landing and I saw that it was a good plan so I followed it. But it turns out that it didn’t work because our enemies…” she emphasised the last word and he noticed how this time she had decided to use the word ‘our’ in contrast to her own statement in the beach at Dragonstone, “…outsmarted us. And I don’t blame you for it. Then when we learnt about the lost of our allies, I took my horde and Drogon to face the Lannister army on the open field as you and Jon Snow had suggested. I know you didn’t like that I executed the Tarlys, but they had betrayed their liege lord, Oleanna Tyrell, our ally, and when given the chance to surrender they openly defied me. I cannot tolerate this sort of rebellious acts among the lords or nobody will respect me. Those who did without a show of strength were already dead or captured and I recall you stressing the importance of allies.”

She was walking in circles around the room now.

“I never liked the wight’s hunt idea, but I respected it because I have learnt to trust my advisors and you seemed to believe it would work, which it almost didn’t. I flew north because after your persistence on forging a more productive relationship with the King in the North, we were in a mission together. The men in the expedition trusted me to save them, and what kind of a queen I am if I refuse to help those who ask? I admit that a part of me was driven by my feelings, but how could I not when my oldest and dearest friend was among those whose lives hanged by a thread? I couldn’t leave Ser Jorah to die on a frozen lake beyond the Wall. Not after everything he had been through to return to me. I never told this anybody, not even him, but a long time ago I swore to myself that I would bring both of us home and I intend to live up to that promise. I wanted to save Jon Snow as well. I won’t deny it. But whether it was because of my growing… affection” Tyrion noticed her hesitancy at her words “…towards the King in the North or because he was a very valuable ally doesn’t matter because we managed to capture the wight, to rally your sister’s armies to fight along us and Jon Snow’s pledge to me” she concluded and turned around to look at him. She walked towards him, her eyes fixated in his and Tyrion almost stepped back, unable to withstand the intensity of her gaze. “I know what I lost beyond the Wall and there won’t be a single day that goes by when I won’t miss Viserion. But I cannot question every decision that I have made. If I look back I am lost,” she finished almost like a prayer.

Tyrion was taken aback. Daenerys’ confession softened his heart and for a moment he could catch a glimpse of the lonely woman hiding behind the Queen. A small commotion startled them and voices could be heard through the door.

“It would be better if I got ready” Daenerys said returning to her queenly demeanour. “I would think about what you just told me, Lord Tyrion, and we’ll try to be more careful from now on. But don’t ask me to give this up, because I may find myself in a position where I won’t be able to follow your advice,” she continued as she walked to the door. She gave him one final look before she exited the door and added in a whisper “I trust you, Tyrion, with all my heart. I hope you trust me too.”


	3. Jon I

**JON I**

 

Their unusual Small Council had decided that it would be far more convenient, and safer for the Queen, to arrive in White Harbour at dusk. The darkness, the sea mist and the coming snowstorm overhead, threatening to stuck them in the white city longer than they wished, would prevent any unexpected attack against the Daenerys. He had to ensure that she arrived safe and sound to Winterfell, not only for his own personal reasons, but because they were now allied and she had chosen to come with him by ship instead of flying on Drogon’s back, exposing herself to a longer journey and to whatever the roads might lay ahead of them. When he had proposed that they sailed together he had done it because he was convinced that it would definitely give a better impression to arrive together in a retinue than Daenerys arriving riding her dragons and commanding a foreign horde of Dothraki alone, despite her coming to help them. He had felt relieved that she had agreed, disregarding Ser Jorah’s sound advice. He had understood the old knight’s concern, but as soon as Daenerys had given him that meaningful sidelong glance while pronouncing the words, he had forgotten about it. From that moment on, he had been filled with a feeling of anticipation that had scared him. He had never allowed himself to want anything for himself, but this. He longed for her and he had surprised himself wanting to go after her.

The moment he had set foot in the throne room in Dragonstone, her beauty had captivated him. After the news of her arrival in Westeros had reached Winterfell, he had started to hear rumours about her and her achievements. The tales had differed: many of them spoke of her as a Mad King come again, burning cities to the ground, feeding children to her dragons and drinking the blood of her enemies; others, the fewer, spoke of her conquest of the slaver cities and the crowds that seemed to follow her. He hadn’t been able to set for one. However, all of them had remarked her heavenly and ethereal appearance, a true Targaryen beauty, from the blood of Old Valyria, and though he had leaned to believe that it was simply the flurry of bored minds trying to stay busy in winter that exaggerated the truth, when some months ago the large wooden doors had opened before him any tale paled in comparison with the image that was presented to him. He remembered how her soft, long, wavy, silver hair had fallen down over her shoulders and how he had thought he had never seen a woman like her. The man in him had been inwardly satisfied with the realisation of the rumours, but soon he had felt his blood boiling when they had entangled in their discussion. At first, he had refused to bow to an entitled queen who believed the world belonged to her by her father’s name, though soon he understood that there was more to the foreign invader that it let on. But there was simply no time for that: he had gone to Dragonstone to convince Daenerys to give him the dragonglass they needed to fight the Night King and to join the fight, and he couldn’t waste their precious time fantasising with developing a closer relationship with the Dragon Queen. However, whatever willpower he had adhered to during their first meeting had soon vanished after she had offered her assistance to mine the dragonglass and the days that followed he had started to wake up with a broad smile covering his face after a long and refreshing night of dreaming of her.

He had stuck to her advice and he had begun working in the cave with both their men, relieved that the dragonglass was easier to be extracted and less fragile that it looked. He had spent his days looking for a way to lure her to the fight, to make her believe in the threat, to believe in him, and after some weeks, his prayers had been listened. They had been finishing the mining of the first cavities of the cave, where the dragonglass was rough and lacked its characteristic sparkle due to the erosion of the wind and the tides, when they had started digging further on. On their excavations, they had discover a stretchy tunnel only fit for two people that led to the answer to his prayers: the Children of the Forest’s painting of the First Men and the White Walkers.

He remembered their conversation, how the dim light provided by the fire had made her only more beautiful. He had been surprised by her astonishment as she had contemplated the paintings and how soft her voice had sounded when she had asked about the history behind them. He could recall the words she had spoken to him, words he had once told Mance Rayder long ago, which hid an inevitable truth. Had she come any closer to him or had she pushed him further on the subject, Jon believed he would have bent the knee in that cave. That or kiss her. He didn’t know which would have been worse at the time.

Luckily for him, the moment had passed and now Jon found himself on the deck of her royal vessel, sailing back home with everything he had wished for in that cave: tons of dragonglass to forge weapons to defeat the Army of the Dead, Daenerys’ assistance in the war and her by his side.

He took a look around himself to observe the sailors preparing the ship for the unloading of the supplies they carried with them. It was already dark and small snowflakes had started to fall just a few moments before. The winds of winter filled his lungs and for a moment he understood what Tormund had said beyond the wall. Its iciness smelt clean and entered his body allowing him to finally breath. The short relief he experienced was replaced by a sudden dread. Winter had already begun when he had left, but now it seemed to have settled. Everyday he had spent in the South he had feared that he would be too late to help the North, but the armies were already here and in the frame of a fortnight he expected to have reached Winterfell and to be already in their way to the Wall to start the fight for their survival.

They had decided that they would take all their forces to the Wall, dividing them into two military bodies that would be send to Castle Black and Eastwatch-by-the-sea. Ser Jorah had wisely suggested that the Unsullied and the Westerosi soldiers should fight together while the Free Folk and the Dothraki should band in their own body. He had explained that the Unsullied were disciplined soldiers who caused no trouble and that they would blend easily with the Northern and Southern soldiers. On the other hand, the Dothraki, though the large bulk of the army and probably the most effective one against their coming enemy, were a bit wilder and they would be better matched with the Wildings. They had all agreed.

Jon had thought about the military strategies and their numbers countless times. The army they had finally amassed had loosely overtaken more than a hundred thousand men, a figure thoroughly enlarged by Cersei’s troops which where already in their way to Winterfell, and it counted with two large dragons. For the first time in a long time he felt hopeful. They had a chance to win this fight and a great part of that chance took form in the figure of Daenerys Targaryen. She had travelled half the world to take the Iron Throne, with one of the biggest armies human kind had ever seen and those who followed her were blindly loyal to her. She was her queen because they believed in her and nothing would change that. They would fight for her, they would die for her and though he had wondered at the beginning what sort of act could have inspired such a devotion, he had finally seen the truth and had started to feel it in his heart.

He chuckled at the memory of their nights together. He had told Sam once he was no poet and there was nothing but truth to these words. He wouldn’t be able to describe the feeling that overflew him when they were lying together, the feeling of belonging. He had felt his whole life an outsider, someone without a place in the world. The Night’s Watch had soothed that feeling for a while, but his brothers’ betrayal had cut deeper than the knives they had stabbed him with and his death had returned him to his inner seclusion. He had been beyond relieved to have his sister Sansa by his side; in spite of their distant and cool childhood he loved her and wanted to protect her, but they were far too different and though she warmed his heart with sisterly love, she couldn’t fill the void in his soul. He even doubted that Arya could do it and he had missed his little sister a great deal.

After his first night with Daenerys he had understood why.

Daenerys’ fire overwhelmed him, seeping through his bones, penetrating his veins and setting his soul afire. Her exotic scent, her silky porcelain skin, her soft forms were the place where he belonged. He now knew it. Being with her was like a melody, like a song he had never heard before, written long before they were even born, and whose notes he was now finally able to intone. 

He shook his head, blushing, trying to clear his mind from this kind of thoughts. He loved her, but they both needed to focus in the formidable task they had ahead of them. They had allowed themselves to indulge their time on the ship to untangle their passion and affection, but once they landed they would need to resume their leadership, for what they needed to be free of distractions, at least publicly. Daenerys had told him about her conversation with Tyrion and they both had agreed that he was right, up to a certain extend, so they had decided to be careful about their relationship. During daytime they had restricted their interactions to the coordinal kind, expected out of allies, but at night, once retired to their cabins, clothes discarded on the floor, they had been once again just one.

Nobody from the crew seemed to suspect a thing, not even Davos had suggested anything, and so he thought that it might be working. Even then, he didn’t fool himself; he knew how he looked at her. Davos had once remarked how ‘ _he looked to her good heart’_ back in Dragonstone, some months ago when they hadn’t even engaged in any sort of nocturnal activities. He needed to be more careful in front of the Northern houses if he wanted to prevent any sort of revolt. The Northern lords were loyal, but stubborn and Jon really hadn’t the patience to deal with their peevish behaviour.

Furthermore, he dreaded the moment when he would need to confess that he had bent the knee. Not because he regretted his decision or because he didn’t believe in Daenerys to be a deserving queen, far from that. He feared the lords’ reaction to her and her armies, which they really needed. So when the time had come to write a missive to Lord Manderly about their impending departure from Dragonstone to White Harbour he had settled for his former title as King in the North to sign the letter. He knew he should have asked Daenerys and her advisors about it, but he hadn’t wanted them to argue back and risk the possibility of a welcoming reception upon their arrival. Perhaps he should have found the time during their journey on the sea to communicate them that he hadn’t informed the North of his pledge to Daenerys, but to be honest, he would rather enjoy some peaceful nights with Daenerys when they hadn’t had to worry about their future.

He sighted, understanding those days were over, as he saw the flickering lights of the city twinkling in the mist. They were close.

The sound of footsteps behind him made him turn his head to see who was approaching. Gendry Waters.

“Your grace” he said coming closer. “May I speak with you?”

 _‘Your grace’_ he thought to himself. ‘Not anymore, I guess’. He hadn’t pursued any kind of title when he had fought against the Boltons to retake their home. He had done it for his sister, for the family they had lost and for them to have a future. His victory had permitted him to rally the Northern houses to fight against the Dead and continue his duty to be once again the shield that guarded the realms of men. However, he couldn’t deny the pride that he had felt when he heard the whole Great Hall in Winterfell acclaimed the words that fulfilled his childhood’s dreams. ‘ _The King in the North.’_ A titled his brother Robb, a trueborn Stark, had held. He couldn’t have been more proud. Sansa’s reassurance that he deserved it had only pushed him to accept his new roll as their king with a stronger determination. Still, he had sometimes caught himself doubting, even if he did it inwardly, of his decisions. After meeting Daenerys, that had also changed.

He had observed her queenly demeanour, how her confidence in herself displayed through her speech and the way she moved. She was all commanding with her mere presence and Jon had wanted to present a similar image to her. Her attitude had reinforced his, and every other day Jon had found himself more comfortable in his position. He had even challenged her at some point, discovering he actually enjoyed being a king. A bastard made king. He knew that Daenerys and her council’s approach to the world had helped on that respect: they had never used the nature of his bastardy to belittle him while they had argued, as other before them had done. Not a single time had he heard Daenerys acknowledging him being a bastard. She didn’t seem to care and that detail had boosted his confidence.

There was also the fact that even though he had technically bent the knee to her, she hadn’t informed her advisors on time of such a relevant event nor had she started to treat him differently, which had both confused and moved him. Maybe titles weren’t as important anymore, only the people and the position they truly held.

That was the reason why he hadn’t corrected those who still addressed him as a king, or maybe the truth was that he was still holding onto his kingship as a way to keep her close. He wasn’t really sure.

“Of course, Gendry. What is it?” he answered turning to face him. He was shivering, barely wearing some layers of clothes. The young man seemed to be chilling under the blizzard. “You should probably get some warmer clothes. You don’t want to freeze and it is only getting colder,” he added. Gendry nodded.

“Yes, your grace. Ser Davos got me some fine fur coat, I have left it downstairs,” he replied with a smile. “I just wanted to inform you that I’ve come up with an idea to reduce the costs and the forging times on arrows,” he said raising his hand and passing what it looked like the point of an arrow.

Jon took a close look. At first it seemed an average arrow, but the point had been carved and had a small sharped amount of dragonglass embedded in the cavity.

“I’ve been thinking that we don’t really have time to forge the numberless weapons we may need to fight the White Walkers, so maybe we should try to redesign the ones we already have,” he continued with his explanation.

Jon examined the arrow and then Gendry. Perhaps Gendry was not as simple as Tormund had suggested.

“I think that could work,” he answered with his husky voice. “What other ideas have you in mind?” he asked handing the arrow back to him.

“Well, this kind of thing could only be done with arrows and spears, as they are forged following the same procedure. I will need to come up with something for the swords and the ‘ _dathraks’,”_ he replied.

“‘ _Arakhs’,_ ” he automatically corrected him. The Dothraki weapon was called _arakh_. He had asked Daenerys and Ser Jorah about the Dothraki fighting style and weapons in order to start planning their strategy and to give instruction to the smiths to build them suitable dragonglass weapons. He saw Gendry nodding and he turned his eyes back again to stare at the horizon. The shapes of the building in White Harbour should have been already visible in the distance, but the fog was gobbling them down and he was beginning to feel anxious.

Gendry hadn’t moved and Jon thought he might be waiting to be discharged.

“If that’s all, you are dismissed, Gendry. Thank you,” he said inviting him to leave him alone.

“Actually…” Gendry’s hesitant voice continued. “There is something I have wanted to tell you, but couldn’t find the moment nor the words”. He seemed troubled and the statement intrigued Jon, who closed his eyes halfway. He looked at Gendry who worn a guilty face that worried him.

“I told you I met your father once in my shop in King’s Landing. He was asking questions about my origins as the king’s hand before him had done, Jon Arryn.” Jon looked at him in understanding. His father had been accused of treason and beheaded for it.

“At the time, I didn’t know the reason why my master suggested I joined the Night’s Watch, I just thought he’d got sick of me,” he continued. “I joined a caravan that was taking scum to the Wall, leaving King’s Landing after your father’s execution. It was a bunch of criminals and wretches, but among the mob, there was a little boy; a sack of bones with a naughty attitude, pointing at one of the other kids with his thin, castle-forged iron ‘needle’,” he explained, avoiding his penetrating gaze. Jon’s heart skipped a beat. _‘Needle’_.

Something clicked in Jon’s mind.

“Arya?” he gasped. Gendry nodded.

“Aye, she tried to deceive us, pretending she was a boy named Arry. We travelled together for many months, hiding from the golden cloaks, who were after me. She was heading to the Night’s Watch to meet you.”

“What happened? Why didn’t you reach the Wall?” his attention was all focused on Gendry.

“Our guide got killed in a Lannister ambush and we were taken to Harrenhal, but Arya made a deal with some strange man she had saved from a fire and we were able to escape before they would torture and murder us,” he explained. “We encountered the Brotherhood without Banners and that’s were our ways split” he sighted with resignation.

Jon was trying to assimilate all the events that his small sister had lived. “Why did you part ways?”

Gendry’s eyes shined with sadness and guilt.

“She asked me to come with her, to her family. But I couldn’t accept it. Had I gone with her I’d have been a simple smith, while she would have been m’lady…” he said sunk in his own thoughts. “So I decided to join the Brotherhood and when the Hound…” he resumed.

“The Hound?” Jon couldn’t believe his ears.

“Yes, didn’t he tell you about it?” Gendry took Jon’s stunned faced for an answer. “He was there, with the Brotherhood, he killed Beric and then he left with Arya to take her to your brother Robb… I presume she must have died along with your family at the Red Wedding,” he concluded bitterly. “Probably that is why the Hound didn’t tell you he met her too. I didn’t want to tell you myself that I met your sister, that it was my fault that she is dead, that I couldn’t get over my bastard complex and stay with her to protect her. Letting your sister go is the one mistake I would never forget myself for. I am so sorry.”

Jon was speechless. Gendry, the Hound… they had all met his little sister and apparently they had tried to protect her where he had failed to be there for her. He looked at Gendry, a new image forming in his mind. The smith was shaking and Jon doubted this time was due to the cold. He raised his hand and placed it over Gendry’s shoulder.

“You don’t need to apology, Gendry. You were with her while others, like myself, couldn’t, so for that I must thank you,” he gently said. Gendry smiled shyly. “And you must know, that she is still alive, in Winterfell.” The young man’s eyes opened in surprise. “I don’t know where she’s been or how she made it there, but she is very much alive.”

“Are you certain?”

Jon nodded. “Aye. My sister Sansa sent me a raven informing me about her whereabouts.” He could see the relief in his face, clouded eyes.

“Thank you for letting me know, your grace.”

Jon palmed him in the back and smiled to him. “It is Jon for you Gendry,” he replied.

Gendry nodded, pressing his lips and walking a few steps backwards. The he turned over his foot and descended the ladder that led inside the vessel.

Jon hadn’t much time to think about everything he just learnt when another figure approached him.

The Hand of the Queen was already prepared for the landing, all covered in dyed black leather and fur. His Hand-of-the-Queen pin was proudly visible on the left side of his chest, shining in the light of the lanterns that had already been lit. He positioned himself beside Jon and both stared at the horizon for a while before he finally broke the silence.

“I’ve spoken with the captain. He says we’ll be arriving in less than an hour. He had to slow down the vessel so all the fleet arrive at the same time. The Queen has insisted on it. She wishes to be present when the Unsullied disembark,” he answered to the unformulated question.

“Good,” he simply replied. He could see by the corner of his eye that Tyrion was uneasy and he suspected that the time for their conversation had come.

“The Queen will join us in a few minutes. She has insisted on the necessity of being on the deck by your side while entering the quay. She said and I quote ‘ _It sends a better message’,”_ he said turning his nose up.

Jon grinned at the statement. That had been his words to convince her to travel with him by sea, but apparently Tyrion didn’t find them funny.

“So I thought that maybe we could use the time we have left to clarify some important matters that haven’t been discussed during our journey,” he continued. He wasn’t waiting for an answer, so Jon remained quiet. “The Queen has suggested keeping as a secret that you pledged yourself to her, at least for now. Until the White Walkers are defeated, their threat is the only thing that matters and she wisely believes that your men will fight more vehemently if you command them directly. So until the war is over you will remain the King in the North, at least publicly. Unless your honour has a problem with it,” he added wryly.

Jon thought about it for a second. He had already written a message to Sansa signing as Warden of the North, instead of its king, but he knew that Sansa would want him to be the one to inform to the Northern lords of their new situation as an act of revenge for not consulting the decision with her. So in that regard they were safe. No word of him bending the knee would be known in the North until the war was over.

“However, there is something I, as Hand of the Queen, will ask of you. I will need you to declare your last will,” he pleaded and Jon knew he was now being serious, acting as Daenerys’ advisor and confident and not a friend. “The Queen won’t hear about it,” he sighed. “When I even mentioned the slightly possibility of you dying in the coming battle, she ended the conversation and kicked me out of the room,” he tried to joke. “But it is important. Shall you fall in battle and shall the living survive, we’ll need a proof that the Seven Kingdoms remained the Seven Kingdoms as long as you lived and served the Queen.” Tyrion turned fully to face Jon and placed his small hand in his arm. “I do not want to imagine the worst,” he said stressing the words, “but shall it happen, we must to be prepared. I’ve seen enough wars caused by unclear last wishes.”

“Aye, I’ll do it.” Jon nodded. “As soon as we reach Winterfell I will have it done.”

“Thank you, your grace,” he squeezed his arm in gratitude and then he removed his hand. He moved to leave him some space. “And perhaps it would be better if the Queen didn’t know, just for now.”

Jon looked at him with curiosity, trying to guess any possible ulterior reason. But he came to the conclusion that if Daenerys found out about the will she would be furious with both of them. Tyrion would suffer the dragon’s wrath for having directly disobey her and Jon would have to endure her accusatory eyes for having accepted Tyrion’s proposal without her approval. So he nodded in agreement.

A horn sounded in the distance, alerting the people on the shore that the fleet was approaching. Like responding to a call, the occupants of the ship started to gather on the deck and soon Ser Jorah joined them. He seemed a bit worried, but his composure was impeccable: he had never looked more knightly.

“You’re almost home, Ser Jorah,” Tyrion teased.

“Aye,” he responded with his northern accent. “It feels odd, after all these years. I never thought I’d be back.”

“Do you regret it? The things you did?” Tyrion asked.

To Jon’s surprise he shook his head.

“No. I do feel sorry for selling people to the slavers. After my years in exile and the liberation of the Bay of Dragons I understand the consequences of my actions and I lament the pain I personally caused to those whose freedom I stole, but I don’t regret the things I did. Hadn’t I done them, I’d have never met Daenerys. Before her, I was a spiteful man, resented with people like your father, Lord Eddark, for the crimes I had committed,” he said staring at Jon. “So no, I don’t regret it. If I had known that every road I took would lead me to exile, but all the same to her, I would still have taken them.” His voiced had sounded calmly, but behind his words, Jon sensed the passion the old knight felt for Daenerys. At first he had believed it was unbreakable loyalty for the Queen, then he had understood that it was love. But now, hearing this man laying his heart out in front of them he realised that it was something more than simply love. Jorah Mormont was devoted to her in body and soul.

His speech had moved something inside of him, which he wasn’t sure of. He felt a new kind of respect for the man who had consecrated his life to the Dragon Queen in spite of his unrequited love. He had at first believed that Ser Jorah would see in him a rival, someone to upbeat, but the knight had only treated him courteously from the very beginning, even though he was sure that he knew about the glances Daenerys and him exchanged. They had spent a great deal of time together, first in their way to the north for the wight hunt and then during daytime in the ship. They had been planning strategically their attack on the Army of the Dead together, they had been chatting about the old lords in the North and one day Jorah had informed him that Samwell had treated him in the Citadel when nobody would, curing him from the Greyscale. He had been surprised of Sam’s boldness to disobey the Maesters, but perhaps his friend had always been the other type of brave.

“You definitely keep improving your lyric, Ser Jorah” Tyron told him half-caught in a smile. “I don’t think you need to convince any of the three of us of Daenerys’ grandeurs.”

“I asked you once in our way to Meereen, Lord Tyrion: ‘ _Do you believe in anything greater than ourselves, in gods, in destiny? Do you believe there is a plan for this world?’”_ he recited to Tyrion again.

“’ _You’ve heard baby dragons singing? It’s hard to be a cynic after that,’_ you said.” Tyrion replied. “I believe in her as well. She’s the Mother of Dragons.”

“She’s the Mother of Dragons and she needs true protectors,” he added like remembering something for himself. He then turned abruptly to face Jon, with a strange look in his eyes. “We must protect her, Jon Snow” he confided. “She has many enemies in the North, enemies she hasn’t earned. You must protect her,” he added emphasising the ‘you’.

“She will be safe. You’ll be by her side” Jon assured him.

“I am only an outcast, but you’re the king. Their king. Don’t let them speak ill of her, to try to belittle her,” Jorah told him, almost as a command.

“I intend not to, Ser. I am loyal to our queen.” Both men held their gazes, reading each other’s true intentions, until Tyrion cleared his throat forcing them to look away.

The creak of footsteps stepping of the deck’s boards announced someone coming and the three of them spun to welcome the new arrival.

The Queen had finally decided to join them on deck as the vessel approached the quay surrounded by the rest of her royal navy transporting the dragonglass and the Unsullied. The short space that separated the ladder and their spot next to the handrail was enough for Jon to get captivated by her image.

She was all covered in white, blending in with the snow that fell over their heads. She had selected for the occasion a white fur cloak that buttoned up at her cleavage, allowing the design of her dress to be seen. The gown she was wearing was white as well with small red embroideries that wriggled over her chest forming the sigil of House Targaryen, the three-headed dragon. For what it could be seen from below the cloak, the neck and cleavage followed the fashion she was used to wear, with shoulder pads that imitated the wings of her dragons. The fabric looked foreign and anew to him, but nevertheless warm and comfortable. He had completed her look with one of her intrinsic braids, the ones she  worn as a crown, and also this time she had allowed a few locks to flow around her lovely face, soothing her features and reminding him how lucky he was for holding this woman’s affection.

She was waking towards them all regal, with her globed hands interlaced in front of her, and with an amused smile in her face. Behind her, Missandei and Grey Worm were wearing matching outfits, black dyed leather and woollen coats, with a fur line on the neck. They were conversing in Valyrian.

“Good afternoon, my Lords” Daenerys greeted them. “I hope you haven’t been out in this cold for long. I wouldn’t want you to sicken,” she said half joking.

“Oh, your grace, I don’t believe you’ll need to worry about these Northerners,” Tyrion said pointing at Jon and Jorah. “However, perhaps you should be thinking about a Hand replacement,” he added shivering. “Lady Missandei seems fit.”

Daenerys studied him for a while and then she rolled her eyes entertained. “Should I presume you’re resigning, Lord Tyrion?”

“I wouldn’t dare, my queen!” he exclaimed theatrically. “I really enjoy my position; it permits me to travel to a frozen wasteland to face nothing but death itself. I consider myself lucky” he finished smiling at her.

“We will be landing soon, Khaleesi” Jorah said catching her attention. Jon saw Daenerys’ eyes leaving her Hand and meeting the old knight’s one, affection clearly showing.

“That’s good to know, Ser Jorah. I am looking forward to meeting the North,” she said to her friend.

The thick mist and the flurry of snow enveloping the vessel made impossible for them to see beyond the prow of the ship, but according to the sound the water produced as it broke against the hull, they were close to the quay. They would be setting foot on the inner harbour of the city, which wasn’t big enough for the entire fleet; so the rest of the vessels would need to land in the outer harbour, but still Daenerys had wanted the whole city to appreciate the size of her fleet. Jon had learnt she liked to make big entrances, but this time the fog would deprive her of it. They could barely distinguish the ships next to theirs; he doubted the people ashore could see the fleet either.

Daenerys turned to face Jon, her queenly mask on. “Do we know who will be there to receive us?”

“Lord Manderly, your grace. He knows we are coming with a large army and I commanded him to find a comfortable and warm space for the soldiers when I wrote the missive.” Jon replied, straightening his back. Daenerys looked at him and opened her mouth to reply, but just as she was going to thank him, the mist opened and the white city appeared before them. Its name made it justice. The city was built on a hillside, with the imposing New Castle rising on the top, over the lime-painted houses. It was an impressive view.

“It seems we have quite an audience,” Ser Davos said finally emerging. Gendry followed closed. In the quay there was a multitude congregated, silently waiting for the fleet to arrive.

Jon looked forward and examined the people that waited to welcome them. Hundreds of people had gathered in the dock to greet them, something Jon hadn’t expected, nor had he wanted. He cursed under his breath. The idea to arrive at dusk was precisely to avoid the crowds and the undesirable glances.

After a few more instances, finally the ship shook and the captain informed them they had touched the ground.

Jon turned on his heels and started to walk towards the wooden gangway being placed by the sailors. Ser Davos followed with Gendry by his side and so did the rest of the retinue.

Jon stopped just before landing, looking on his back to check the order of disembarking. He observed how Missandei was helping Daenerys to cover her beautiful hair with the hood that pended from her cloak. Then she turned over and looked at Jon in the eyes. They exchange a meaningful glance. He would have wanted to squeeze her hand in reassurance, but he couldn’t do that, not there, not in front of all these people; so when she nodded in assent he nodded back and turned to face the crowd.

Once ashore, a medium aged fat man greeted Jon, who quickly remembered he was Lord Manderly’s son, Wylis Manderly. His family accompanied him and they all bowed before Jon, and act that was imitated by all the smallfolk.

Jon fidgeted uncomfortably, but waited patiently until they rose.

“Welcome to White Harbour, your grace. I hope the journey was agreeable and the seas weren’t too rough,” the fat lord said.

“Thank you very much for receiving us in this weather, Lord Wylis. I really appreciate the gesture, though I must confess I was expecting your father,” Jon stated.

“I know, your grace. But my father is not what he used to be and the cold is soaking his old bones. He apologises and awaits you in the castle for a welcoming feast” he explained flatteringly. Jon nodded and then turned to introduce his companion.

“Let me introduce you to Queen Daenerys Targaryen and her council. She is my guest in the North and she must be treated with great respect,” he said with his more commanding voice. He then looked at the crowd, challenging them to say something.

Lord Wylis smiled uneasily, but nevertheless he nodded. “We welcome you to the North, Queen Daenerys,” he addressed her trying to catch a glimpse of the Targaryen queen under the hood. Daenerys didn’t say anything back; she just tilted her head in recognition of his kind words. “Let’s waste no time in this bloody blizzard,” Lord Wylis continued. “There is a feast waiting for us in the Castle. I am sure my father can’t wait to meet you,” he said watching the retinue.

They had started walking towards the castle when Jon heard Daenerys muttering something to Missandei in Valyrian. Jon wished for a moment he had paid more attention to Maester Luwin’s High Valyrian poetry lessons.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Missandei’s sweet voiced called for Lord Wylis. “But the Queen requests to know where the Unsullied should go after landing.”

Lord Wylis turned in confusion. “The Unsullied?”

“The Queen’s army, my lord,” Jon explained.

“Oh, yes… yes, I forgot. I am sorry, Queen Daenerys,” he apologised interlacing his chubby fingers. “My father wouldn’t have forgotten. We have emptied the Wolf’s Den to place your army. It is a fortress that now serves as a prison, but I assure you that it is free of criminals; the few that remained in there have been moved to the dungeons under the New Castle,” he explained hesitantly. Jon thought he was probably scared of the Queen’s reaction to her army’s placement. “It is the only place with a roof that can shelter such as amount of people. We lit the fires in the morning, so it should be warm already,” he added and then turned to keep marching towards the castle.

“You must excuse me once again, my lord, but the Queen insists to personally supervise the disembarking of the Unsullied,” Missandei’s voice startled them.

“I am sorry, Queen Daenerys, but it is late and it is getting icy. Perhaps I could ask some of my men to guide your army to the Wolf’s Den.”

Daenerys finally stepped forward until he was in front of him. The crowd surrounding them had stopped chatting and they were holding their breaths. Lord Wylis opened his mouth to say something, but he was left speechless. Daenerys was still wearing the hood, but the distance that separated them wasn’t enough to cover her features anymore and the Northerner was struck with her appearance. Jon understood the feeling. Daenerys’ violet gaze was penetrating as sharp knives.

“Thank you very much for welcoming us, my lord,” she finally spoke politely. “I look forward to meeting your father and enjoying the feast you have so kindly prepared for us. I very much appreciate the gesture of your sweet family to greet us in this weather, but I would like to check on my armies. It has been almost a week since we set sail and I would like to see them shelter. They are not used to this cold,” she explained. “We are not used to this cold,” she added smiling to her companions.

“Very well,” Lord Wylis, replied with resignation. “Follow me, they must be disembarking in the outer harbour.”

“That won’t be necessary, my lord. You and your retinue can go back to the castle if you wish. I believe that Lord Varys and Lord Tyrion,” Jon noticed the murmuring among the folk. The infamous dwarf of Casterly Rock was known even in the North, “… and maybe Ser Davos would like to come with you too,” she said.

“I will escort you, your grace, if you may allow me,” Jon rather informed her before anybody could say anything in that regard. He stared at her and they exchanged a knowing look. He then looked at Lord Wylis and stated “I’ll need some of your men to guide us to the Wolf’s Den and then up to the Castle,” he ordered him.

“Yes, your grace. Immediately” and he disappeared among the crowd. An awkward silence took place and slowly the smallfolk seemed to lose interest and began to disperse. Out of the blue, one of Wylis’ daughters, a girl with green hair, spoke.

“Excuse me, your grace,” she said staring at Daenerys. “Is it true that you have dragons?” she let fly. Her mother grabbed her by the arm, while she compelled her to hush by pushing her backwards.

Daenerys chuckled, impressed by the girl’s liveliness. She pressed her lips and Jon could swear he saw the answer forming in her head.

Suddenly, overhead a loud screech was heard followed by a thunderous roar. The crowd that had started to disperse looked up in unison to the sky, scared expressions rising up in their faces. However, the dragons didn’t show up.

“They will be here soon,” she said satisfied. The little girl observed Daenerys with wide eyes. “What is your name?”

“My name is Wylla. I am Lord Manderly’s granddaughter, your grace,” she said bowing a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Wylla. It is good to meet a Northerner girl at last,” she said giving her a smile. Just in that moment, Lord Wylis returned with two hefty men.

“My king, if you follow Mikkard and Addem, they will lead you to the stable where you’d be able to pick a horse. They will take you then to the outer harbour and to the Wolf’s Den” Wylis explained with his thick accent.

Jon studied the men and raised his chin as a way to indicate them to start moving. They reached the stable soon enough where they selected horses and they split ways: Ser Davos, Lord Tyron, Lord Varys and Gendry, along with the ship’s captain and sailors parted with Lord Wylis and his family to the Castle; while Jon, Daenerys, Ser Jorah, Missandei and Grey Worm followed Mikkard and Addem towards the outer harbour.

When they left the nave, Jon realised that the multitude that had received them upon landing was still there, expectant, watching every of their moves. He was uncertain about their reasons, but still their  presence embraced him and warmed his heart.

He believed that part of the reason of the procession was the Dragon Queen. He looked at her, riding her white mare and talking with Missandei and Grey Worm. She looked impossible.

“They are here for you, your grace,” Ser Jorah Mormont woke him as if reading his thoughts. “They have come to meet their king. They’ll need some kind of hope for the coming storm.”

“I don’t think I could give a speech,” Jon joked.

“There’s no need for that. Your mere presence here will encourage them to have faith.”

They reached the outer harbour when almost all the Unsullied had landed. They were forming and Daenerys spurred on her mare to situate her in front of her men. Grey Worm dismounted and joined her on the ground.

Jorah, Missandei and Jon stayed a bit behind, observing Daenerys’ commands to her men. The whole population of White Harbour watched. Jon couldn’t understand a word Daenerys was saying and he was tempted to ask Missandei to translate for him. However, the intensity of the moment wiped the need for a translation. After Daenerys had finished, the Unsullied, attired with similar black woollen coats to the ones the Queen’s advisor and commander worn, began to hit the ground with their spears as hailing their Queen’s words. They started to march behind Daenerys, following the direction that Wylis’ men pointed and soon Jorah, Missandei and Jon joined her at the frontline.

The outer harbour wasn’t very long from the Wolf’s Den, and after a short while they arrived in the fortress. The Unsullied entered quietly and in order in the building and only after the last one of then had entered did Grey Worm approach the Queen to ask her permission to stay with his men to rest. Daenerys exchanged a strange look with Missandei and she quickly added that it would be better to have another person in the Den that could communicate with the Northerners, just in case. Daenerys nodded, but not before she ensured there was plenty of warm food for them to supper. Only after that, they left for the Castle.

Jorah moved his horse so he would position himself on Daenerys left, while Jon urged his horse to ride on the Queen’s right side. There they stayed silent for a while until Daenerys broke spoke.

“So, what can I expect of this Lord Manderly?” she inquired Jon. “Has he got his son’s appearance?” She teased.

“Indeed, your grace,” he grinned. “He is said not to be able to ride a horse. Though I know for sure that’s not entirely true.”

“Perhaps, we should have listened to Lord Wylis and hurry to the Castle. I wouldn’t want to find an empty table,” she commented half-caught in a laugh.

“I met Lord Wyman a long time ago. We fought together a couple of times,” Ser Jorah said. “He used to be a great warrior, but those end up wasting away in times of peace. Did he fight with your brother Robb in the War of the Five Kings?” he asked.

“House Manderly fought with my brother. Lord Wyman's youngest son, Welden, died at the Red Wedding,” he said taciturn.

“House Mandely is one of the most loyal houses of the North, Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah added. “They were once a southern house, expelled from the Reach and sheltered by House Stark. They were placed in charged of protecting the White Knife and they’ve been doing so for a thousand years.”

Daenerys reflected on that for a while and then she swivelled her violet eyes to look at his. Jon froze under her gaze.

“Did House Manderly fight for House Stark against the Boltons?” She asked firmly. “Did they fight for you?”

Jon was blindsided.

“They didn’t, your grace. But they have thereafter pledged themselves to me as their King.”

“But weren’t they already bound to assist House Stark by their former oath?” She insisted. Jon sighted. “They still refused the call when you called them upon.”

“House Manderly is a loyal house, your grace,” he ensured her.

“We will see,” she said unconvinced.

Jon understood Daenerys’ concerns. He had had the same doubts, but he had eventually chosen to discard them because there was simple no time for mistrust. They needed to band together, all of them. If he could make peace with Cersei Lannister, he could forgive a few Northern lords for being scared.

White Harbour streets were cleaned and seemed to draw a grid. They headed north, spurring their horses up to the Castle. The procession had followed them religiously and at some point they had had to slow down their horses so the people on foot could keep the pace. Finally they arrived in the imposing stairs that welcomed New Castled. They trotted to the entrance, where big iron doors were held opened for them.

Before getting inside the castle Jon decided to turn on his horse' heels to wave his hand thanking the multitude for seeing them on their tour. He was welcomed with cheers and, embarrassed, he speeded up to enter the castle, leaving the crowd behind.

He noticed Daenerys staring at him and he saw she was smiling, almost with pride. However, he couldn’t give it a second thought because a loud voice shook them.

“Your Grace, welcome to White Harbour,” Lord Wymam greeted him, coming down from the big staircase located in the middle of the hall. “I am sorry I couldn’t meet you upon landing, but these old bones don’t do well in this cold,” he justified himself giving a short bow. He then turned his eyes to watch Daenerys, who was unbuttoning her cloak. She proceeded to remove the hood, unveiling her silver hair. Several gasps were heard all over the hall.

Immediately, one servant hurried to offer her assistance, which Daenerys thanked passing her globes and cloak and leaving her gown exposed to everybody’s sight. She looked as regal as someone could look. She walked towards Lord Wyman who grabbed her hand and kiss it.

“Queen Daenerys, welcome to White Harbour. I hope you find your brief stay among us of your liking,” he said.

“Thank you, my lord. I wish I could have visited the city in other circumstances,” she returned. Lord Wyman smiled back at her and then his eyes saw Jorah.

“Ser Jorah Mormont,” he whispered. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Neither I thought I would return home,” he conceded. “But here I am back again,” he said in defiant. The air thickened.

“Ser Jorah Mormont is Queen Daenerys’ trusted advisor, Lord Wyman, and they are both my guests. Any old affront is now forgiven,” Jon intervened trying to ease the atmosphere. “Lord Manderly, I do not intend to be rude, but we come from a very long journey and we are starving, so we would much appreciate to proceed to the feast.” Jon found himself surprise by the authority in his voice.

“Yes, of course. As the King in the North commands,” he agreed emphasising his words.

Everything had gone well so far. Nobody had said a nasty comment towards anybody, no Mad King’s daughter reference, so Jon was more than content. However, he will need to warn Lord Wyman about the unnecessary displays of loyalty, though he believed Daenerys was more than prepared for this kind of small impertinences.

They entered the Great Hall and they took seats on the big table, Jon sat at the centre of it: in his left side, House Manderly; in his right, Daenerys and her advisors and Ser Davos. He thanked the Old Gods for being allowed by the protocol to be sat next to Daenerys for they were able to chat without rising suspicion. They ate and drank White Harbour’s best dishes and beverages and when Lord Manderly suggested the entertainments commenced, Jon announced he was tired from the ship and that he wished to retire. Everybody in the Great Hall stood up to see his king off and so the guests were guided to their chambers. Lord Manderly accompanied Daenerys and Jon to the southwest wing of the Castle, where they had been accommodated.

“Lord Manderly, King Jon has informed me that your host will come with us to Winterfell. Will you be coming with us as well?” Daenerys asked once they were walking on the dark corridors leading to her room.

Jon was struck by those words. ‘ _King Jon_ ’ she had said. She had acknowledged his title before, but not like this. Previously, she had used it as a simple nomenclature to refer to him, but this was the first time that she had said it meaning that he was her equal in terms of political power. Her statement had been simple, but it had the desired effect. Lord Manderly looked at her with a new respect and trust and Jon felt his blood and pulse accelerating.

“I am afraid I will not, Your Grace,” he said. “I would only be a liability, but my son Wylis will lead our armies and he will fight among House Stark and the White Wolf in the war to come,” he added with pride shining in his eyes.

“Then I would ask you to take good care of my fleet, if that is not too much trouble. I would like the ships to remain in White Harbour for as long as we are up north and I cannot think of a better custodian for the task,” she asked turning to look at Lord Manderly with a flattering smile.

Lord Manderly then looked at Jon, who nodded in assent.

“Yes, of course, your grace. I will see them taken care. I give you my word,” he sworn solemnly.

“Thank you very much, Lord Manderly.”

They had reached Daenerys’ bedchamber and Jon started to search for any believable excuse to remain a bit longer by her side without being too obvious. Luckily for him, Ser Jorah came, surprisingly, to his aid.

“Lord Manderly, if you don’t mind, I will stay with King Jon and Queen Daenerys from now on. You look tired and it is late. I think we can trust that King Jon would be able to find his chambers,” he added.

Jon couldn’t believe his ears. What was he doing?

“Oh, absolutely, Ser Jorah. I trust King Jon to be safe while you are on your watch,” he laughed. “Don’t fear, old bear, this castle is loyal to our King,” he then turned to Jon and gave him the indications for his room. “I’ll send some guards to watch your door on your sleep, still,” he added mocking Jorah.

After that he and his guards walked away. Ser Jorah waited until Lord Wyman turned the corner to look at Daenerys and say, “I’ll go find myself some guards, sleep tight, Khaleesi. Lock the door.”

And they were left alone. They exchanged a knowing look and she opened the door, which closed after Jon.

Once in the room, Jon saw that the fireplace had been lit and that some of her belonging had been placed around the ornamented furniture. Her white cloak was already there, lying on top of the trunk. He locked the door with a bang and Daenerys looked at him half amused.

“The White Wolf?” she teased raising one brow.

“I might be thinking about collecting some titles for myself, Daenerys Stormborn” he teased back, crossing the room and removing his cloak. He hadn’t thought about removing it before as Daenerys had; he had started to wear it as some sort of sign of power, like a crown. That thought embarrassed him, though he was starting to wonder why. He was a king, he repeated to himself. Then he remembered.

“ _King Jon?”_ he asked her raising his brow, mimicking her face.

He could see her chest going up and down, the blood in the veins of her neck beating, her cheeks blushing, her eyelids flickering and her tongue moistening her full lips. The sight was delightful.

He saw her staring back at him, mouth forming an impish smile.

He took a deep breath and swallowed.

“Isn’t that what you are?” she replied.


	4. Daenerys II

**DAENERYS II**

 

The skies finally opened the tenth day of their journey. It had stopped snowing the day before, but the white clouds still hung over them. They had been travelling for ten days when the shy rays of sun finally showed, warming their cold bones. She watched the people around her raising their faces to receive the sweet caress of the Sun and she was comforted by the image. She felt responsible for their wellbeing, especially for the people that were on that frozen landscape because of her. The Unsullied had marched without a single complaint, but she knew that they were unaccustomed to the icy temperatures they had experience in the last days and she worried for them. A sudden memory took over her mind, jumbled images flashing before her eyes. She was once again back in the Red Waste, the blazing sun burning her skin and causing her people to rave. She remembered the hunger and the thirst she had experienced and how only her newborn dragons and Ser Jorah had been able to fuel her will to continue to bring her _khalasar_ to safety. She had felt powerless back then, as she had promised she would never feel again after Mirri Maz Duur’s betrayal that cost her the death of her child and her husband. Her dragons had given her a new purpose and a new mean to fulfil it, and still across the dessert she had felt helpless as she saw how her small _khalasar_ was lessened by the day, killed by an enemy she couldn’t fight with her dragons. She had been much innocent and naïve then than she was now and still she had known that her children weren’t enough to accomplish her mission of taking her birthright and restoring the good name of House Targaryen, duty that weighted over her shoulders as the last member of their legacy who still stood. So after her experience in Qarth she had started planning how to acquire an army for herself. First they came the Unsullied, an army made up of slaves she had freed. Their loyalty would be forever with her, even if they decided to part and not fight with her; their unbreakable loyalty would remain with her in perpetuity. But they would not abandon her, not now not ever. Grey Worm’s determination to see her conquer her aim was more than enough proof of that.

Then they came the Second Sons with Daario Naharis. She was sure that had she allowed them to travel with her to Westeros, they would still be fighting among her ranks. However, she could not forget that, at the end of the day, they were mercenaries whose loyalty had a prize. The decision of leaving them in charge of Meereen had been clever. She needed unquestioned loyalty in Westeros.

At the end, they came the Dothraki, though they had always been there. She could picture the frightened little girl who had been wedded to Drogo. That girl had been on the brink of succumbing to despair. However, she had learnt from the circumstances she had been surrounded with and she had grown. The savages she had first feared, had turned to be her people, those who she had learnt to love and respect. The barbaric culture she had despised, she eventually had learnt to love it too. She didn’t agree with all of their practices, but at the time she had had no power to change their customs. Now she had. Now she was their _khaleesi_ ; the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea and not because she was the wife to some khal, no. She had united the khalasars in one as the Dosh Khaleen had predicted her unborn child, Rhaego, would. She was a leader in her own after she had defeated the proud khals and her bloodriders followed her with an unbending conviction that sometimes even scared her. She had forbidden to rape or to enslave people and so far they had complied with her order. She had been proud of them. She would prove to Westeros and to the whole world that her people, the Dothraki, were no savages, as she would show them that every one of the Unsullied was worth at least ten men as well.

Tyrion had told her once that she had done the impossible: she had acquired a massive army along with three dragons, in a very short period of time. So when the peace in Meereen had been finally secured, she had set sail to Westeros to begin her quest to break the wheel and right the wrongs committed against her family.

However, their unexpected military failures and a certain brooding Northern king had put on hold her mission. Now there was an even greater task at hand, their fight for survival against Death itself. And everything seemed to be working against them.

The day they had parted from White Harbour everything seemed to indicate that the odds were in their favour, though it ended up going to ruin. She had woken up by her Northerner king, their naked bodies tangled in a tight embrace and she had felt confident on the task they were conducting. The blizzard had passed and the winter sun shined through the windows, which livened her up. They had arrived in White Harbour on schedule and Daenerys had been pleased by the smooth welcome with which she and her army had been received. On top of that she had been able to benefit from the good mood and teasing demeanour her brooding companion had displayed once alone in her chambers. The North definitely suited him and Daenerys had immediately taken a liking for the land.

Even so, the succession of unfortunate events started to unleash during the break of fast the morning after they had arrived and set the tone for the rest of the journey.

The first incident hadn’t been as serious as Daenerys had taken it, but she couldn’t help it. They had been having breakfast in the Great Hall when Lord Manderly had questioned Jon about his intentions to marry as he had stated that ‘ _The North needs heirs’_. All present at the table had fallen silent and Jon had tensed on his chair. Lord Wyman had continued offering the hand of one of his granddaughters, both old and beautiful enough, as he pointed out, to wed. Daenerys had felt an unknown feeling overwhelmed her and she had looked at Jon waiting for his answer. She had noticed Tyron’s piercing gaze and she had hoped that her queenly mask wouldn’t fade. To her relief, Jon had politely dodged Lord Manderly’s suggestion by stating that there was not time for such a thing while the Army of the Dead marched on the Wall. She had never been happier about his obsession over the Night King than she had been on that moment. Lord Manderly had nodded at his king’s words, but he had promised, broad smile upon his face, to resume the conversation on the union of their houses once the war was over. Jon had given him an uncomfortable smile and then changed the topic. Lord Manderly’s words had made her lose her appetite. She knew she should have expected such proposals, after all Jon was their king, a very handsome one and on top of that he was still single. Every Northern lord would be wishing to marry their daughters and granddaughters to him; Daenerys even suspected those girls wouldn’t have much of a problem themselves with the match. Nevertheless, it had irritated her, not only because of her secret dalliance with Jon, but also because Lord Manderly had mentioned the one thing she would never be able to provide him with in case they decided to take their relationship to another kind of alliance: heirs. Her curse had weighted over her at that moment more than ever and so she had remained the rest of the meal in silence. Daenerys had noticed Jon’s eyes fixed on her, but if he had wanted to say something he cleverly had restrained himself.

The rest of the morning had quickly passed with them busy with preparations for their journey to Winterfell. Lord Manderly had prepared the carriages with his part of the food provisions Lady Sansa had requested to be kept in Winterfell for the winter and soon Lord Wylis joined them with the Manderly forces gathering behind him: 7000 men to fight the Great War. On her part, Daenerys had gone down to the quay to supervise the unloading of the dragonglass and her own part of food supplies. The Unsullied, commanded by Grey Worm, had been doing their duty efficiently and by mid-morning they had been ready to march to the capital of the North. They had been saying their goodbyes to the noble family when the maester of the fortress had interrupted their farewell. A raven had arrived addressed to both Jon Snow and herself. Brianne of Tarth, who had volunteered to travel with the Dothraki by land alongside Podrick and the Hound, signed it. She informed them that they had been delayed due to a snowstorm and therefore they wouldn’t be able to meet them on schedule in the King’s Road as planned. She concluded the message with a request for the steps they must follow.

The news troubled both Jon and Daenerys, as this was a very inconvenient setback. They considered their possibilities and finally they decided to continue their journey to Winterfell, as Ser Davos had suggested. They would follow the course of the river White Knife, instead of turning left to the King’s Road, what would save them a couple of days. They ordered the maester to reply to Brianne telling her to continue their journey to Winterfell as soon as they could and with that last command, the royal retinue left the Castle.

The more than 14000 men who now formed their army were ready to departure and waited outside the city walls. The entire population of White Harbour had gathered too. The Manderlys had decided to come down to see them off and Lord Wyman was about to remind his king of his proposal when a screech followed by a thunderous roar sounded overhead. Everybody looked up to see the dragons’ entrance, flying graciously, their black and green scales gleaming under the winter sun.

Lord Wyman had been left speechless and Daenerys had taken advantage of the opportunity to thank him for his hospitality, smirking at her children’s timely appearance. She then had mounted her white mare and with a commanding voice had instructed her Unsullied to march forward. Soon Jon Snow had done the same with the Northern forces and they had left White Harbour behind.

That day had followed smoothly and despite the upsetting news that had arrived during the morning, when they finally set camp at the fall of dusk, Daenerys was hopeful for what laid ahead of them.

However, when she had waken up in the morning with the wind howling in her ears and threatening to tear her tent apart, any chink of hope she had held vanished. A strong snowstorm had started at daybreak and had lasted for the following eight days, slowing them down and undermining their spirits. “‘ _Fire cannot kill a dragon_ ’, but maybe iciness can” she had thought to herself shivering.

The sunshine was, therefore, a very welcome relief at last. She was riding her horse next to Tyrion, who had been far from happy. He was not used to travel such distances by horse and Daenerys had lived in her own flesh how painful it could be. She might have offered him to travel in a carriage, but she hadn’t wanted to offend him so she hadn’t said anything. She watched him for a while, he had black bags under his eyes and smelt more of alcohol that he had lately. He was now drinking from his wineskin and she saw a few water droplets fell from the corner of his mouth. He stopped drinking and with the flagon still hanging in the air gave her a sidelong glance.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked sarcastically, lowering the flagon.

“Actually I am not. I am worried about my Hand and his appearance,” she said with caution.

“Mmmm…” he said wiping his mouth, “…do not worry, your grace. I am back on water,” he said waggling the flagon. He straightened in the saddle and informed her “Ser Davos told me we would be arriving tomorrow if the weather stays like this and I wish to look presentable.”

“I hope so,” she whispered. “I don’t know if we could keep going on like this,” she said looking back at her people. “I know that they won’t complain, but they are freezing and tired. They need to rest under a roof for at least one night or they would start to become ill and who knows what…” she worried.

Tyron watched her and gave her a sympathetic look. “It won’t come to that.”

She then looked forward and observed the image displaying in front of her: Ser Jorah and Jon were leading the path, chatting about stories from the North. Her heart warmed at the sight. She had worried that her knight would turn against Jon, but apparently they got along quiet well. The expedition beyond the wall had seemed to unite them and the days spent in the ship had strengthened their bond.

Jon turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting hers and he formed a shy smile. She grinned at him. That had been the highlight of the trip, their chances to be together without having to pretend an excessive formality. They could ride together, walk together, eat together and talk together without raising rumours. She discovered lots of things about the North and its people, their traditions and their ways of seeing life. She had also learnt about the Stark children. She learnt about the late Rickon Stark, who had spent his entire life on the run to end up being betrayed by the people who should have sheltered him, and Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, who had rebelled against the Iron Throne to avenge his father’s death and who was butchered in a wedding by his own allies. Jon had avoided explaining how Rickon had died, but after seeing his pained face, Daenerys had asked Ser Davos in private about the circumstances of his death to which Ser Davos had explained that the poor lad was killed by Ramsay Bolton in front of Jon after challenging him to save him during the Battle of the Bastards. Daenerys had been horrified and had quickly asked what had been Ramsay’s destiny. Ser Davos had remained silent for a while and then he had replied with his thick accent 'Lady Stark took care of him.' Daenerys hadn’t questioned any further, something in his tone told her that maybe she wouldn’t want to know, but she had already triggered her curiosity over the elder of the Stark sister. Tyrion had told her about their time together in King’s Landing, how she had been humiliated and demoralised by Joffrey and Cersei and how she had finally been married to him despite her opposition and his reservations. He had told her about the naïve girl she had met, but the things she had been told by Jon didn’t fit that tale anymore. She had been married against her will twice and she had endured abuse and mistreat as well, something Daenerys could relate too. She decided she was really looking forward to meeting Sansa Stark.

Bran had remained a mystery for the most part, for he had been lost for a lot of years beyond the Wall and the last time Jon had seen him he had been lying on a bed, on the brink of death after a mysterious fall from a tower. The letter that had arrived in Dragonstone informing Jon of his return to Winterfell hadn’t explained anything, only that he and Arya were back home.

Daenerys had to admit she felt a bit biased about the youngest of the Stark sisters as she could sense Jon’s sheer love towards her. He had told her that he loved all of them equally, but that he and Arya had been especially close while growing up, as she had never allowed her mother, the late Catelyn Stark, to influence her feelings regarding Jon, so she couldn’t help starting to care for the wild Arya Stark, even though she didn’t know her yet. The Stark children awaited her in Winterfell and she had found herself wanting to impress them, not as the Dragon Queen, but as Daenerys, the woman. She had never understood what home was, but hearing Jon talking about it had made her crave for it more than ever. And therefore, despite those days on the snow had been the coldest of her life in the outside, learning about Jon’s personal life had warmed her heart and she couldn’t wait to find out more about him.

Lord Wylis came from behind riding next to Ser Davos and they positioned themselves at Daenerys’ level to speak with her and her companion, Lord Tyrion.

“We have informed the armies about the imminent arrival in Winterfell, Queen Daenerys,” the Northerner said. “I must to admit that I wasn’t sure about fighting alongside foreign men,” he added without looking at her, “but after spending these days together, travelling in this rough time and observing their calm obedience and perseverance I have to apologise. It will be a pleasure to fight for King Jon along you, your grace,” he finished.

Daenerys looked at Ser Davos who was staring at her with a smile and then turned to thank Lord Wylis for his kind words. The latter excused him and ran to join Jon and Jorah in the front. Ser Davos stayed behind riding close to the Queen and her Hand.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Tyrion said. “Maybe the northerners are easier to convince that we expected,” he added hopeful.

“I am afraid they won’t, Lord Tyrion,” Davos intervened. “Stannis Baratheon once told me that his brother Robert used to say that the Northerners had been difficult to deal with during the rebellion, even under Ned Stark’s commands.” Daenerys looked at him wondering what he had to say in that regard. Davos understood her look and explained “House Manderly has always been very loyal to House Stark. I know what you think, your grace,” he quickly continued as he saw Daenerys furrowing her brow, “…but they truly are. House Mormont is loyal too, but her head, Lady Lyanna is fierce as a bear can be and she may object about the alliance, at first,” he explained. “I worry about House Glover, however, and the Vale, your grace. House Glover complaints too much, in my humble opinion, and the Vale has as its protector Lord Baelish, who I am sure Lord Tyrion, or Lord Varys, have told you about.”

“Lord Baelish is a snake and we will definitely need to have him watched,” Tyrion agreed.

“Tell me about Lady Mormont, Ser Davos. She is Ser Jorah’s relative, isn’t she?” Daenerys asked.

“I believe she is his cousin, though I must admit I get lost in families’ trees,” he laughed.

“Should I really worry about her reaction towards Ser Jorah and myself?” she asked seriously, after she had returned the grin to Ser Davos.

“She won’t be happy to see Jorah, your grace, but she won’t probably say a word as long as King Jon speaks on his behalf and makes her see he doesn’t represent a real threat to her position. You see, she was the first one to give Jon men to fight the Battle of the Bastards and she is the reason why he was proclaimed king in the afterwards,” Ser Davos informed them.

“She seems really loyal. Good for the king,” Tyrion conceded.

“Oh, the old man in me believes she might be a bit infatuated with the King,” Ser Davos joked. “I wouldn’t be surprise if he’d receive another marriage proposal after the Great War” he laughed.

Tyron smiled at his crack while looking at Daenerys, who couldn’t see the fun on Ser Davos’ statement. She knew he was joking and probably even teasing her after her reaction to the situation in White Harbour, but she didn’t want to deal with that sort of thoughts. Furthermore, she was also a bit irritated because even though she had got to know him even further during those days, they hadn’t be able to get the other kind of close. Lord Wylis had suggested that the men should all sleep together in a tent to get warm and Jon hadn’t been able to sneak out. She missed his kisses, warmed and wet; his touch, his comforting strokes and the daring caresses he would give her while taking her to heaven, and she missed the degree of intimacy they could only share through their naked bodies tangled in their bed. She wanted to arrive in Winterfell so badly for so many reasons and thus, when they reached the boundaries of the arable lands owned by Winterfell and Jon prepared for the arrival the morning after, she couldn’t hold her anxiety.

She called for her dragons.

Daenerys was unable to explain how she did it. Jon had asked once about it and she had only been able to shrug and tell him that it was more of a feeling, an intuition than an actual mental connection. Still, sometimes, while riding Drogon she felt he could read her mind and do as she wished.

Drogon and Rhaegal responded to her silent call and they began flying overhead, supervising the whole army whose northern soldiers still looked amused to the sky in awe when they overflew them.

She was riding in the frontline along her council and Jon. They were located in the centre of the retinue as the monarchs responsible for the army behind them. She could have requested Jon to step back and accept his new role as Warden of the North, but she had discovered she didn’t want him to submit to her. He was a leader on his own and she respected that. Especially because he used his power to help people and that is something that they had in common. So she had decided that until the Great War was over it was useless to take his kingship from him, and maybe, she had started to imagine, after that they could try to find another kind of alliance to ensure the unity of the Seven Kingdoms.

She watched him all morning and how he fidgeted on top of his saddle, obviously nervous. She understood why: he was about to present her to the crowd in Winterfell, to the lords that had gone against his idea to travel down South to meet with her and who she knew considered her the Mad King’s daughter and nothing else. However, she knew that the thing troubling him the most was the realisation that he would be seeing his youngest siblings after many years apart. Daenerys knew Jon wasn’t sure about what he would find in Winterfell and though he was beyond exited about the reunion, he was also scared.

By midday, they reached the top of a snowed hill and she could finally catch a glimpse of the Northern capital. She was left speechless. She had been imagining the fortress in her head using the description Jon had provided her with, but the size of the castle surprised her. She heard Jon saying something beside her and she turned her head to listen.

“Home,” he whispered. Daenerys saw him sighting with relief as if hadn’t expected to ever see it again, or in one piece she suspected.

“Let’s go, let’s meet your family,” she answered back grinning.

They rode the few miles that separated them from Winterfell and finally they reached the gates that welcomed them. Daenerys could heard some sentinel shout ‘The King is back! Open the gates!’ And so they did.

She allowed Jon to enter before her, as he was their host, the lord of the castle, and the king at the place. The retinue followed him and they ended up in a courtyard, a large group of people awaiting them in the middle of it. She could see who she believed was Sansa Stark, placed in the centre of the crowd, red hair falling over her shoulders. She was very tall, probably even taller than Jon, she thought. Truth be said, she was very beautiful too, though her eyes shined with no warmth on them.

They came to a halt in front of them and Jon dismounted hastily searching with his eyes. However, Daenerys saw him stopping and looking at his sister Sansa who was staring coolly at him. Jon understood the meaning of that glance and he walked towards her and embraced her, to both Daenerys and Sansa’s surprise.

“I am glad to be home again,” Jon said once he let go of her. He kissed her forehead and Daenerys could see Sansa’s cold semblance breaking apart. She smiled back at her brother.

“I am glad you’re back too, Jon. I’ve missed you,” she admitted. “Arya and Bran will join us soon. She asked me to let her meet you in private,” she added.

Daenerys couldn’t see Jon’s face, but he nodded a bit disappointed. Then he turned to her and she dismounted her horse. Everybody present in the courtyard remained silent.

She was wearing her white fur cloak and she had covered her head with the hood once again, but she decided to uncover it, letting everybody see who she was.

Daenerys walked towards Jon and Sansa, and so did the rest of her retinue. She observed how Lady Stark eyes averted for a brief moment to catch her Hand’s eyes, smiling shyly, but she quickly returned her gaze to focus on her.

“I welcome you to Winterfell, your grace,” Sansa Stark greeted them, bowing her head slightly.

“Thank you for greeting us, Lady Sansa,” she thanked her. “King Jon has spoken many great things about Winterfell and its inhabitants and I was really looking forward to seeing it with my own eyes,” she decided to add. The effect was immediate, as it had been with Lord Manderly and Jon himself. She saw the surprise reflected on Sansa’s eyes, who couldn’t help but to look at his brother for a confirmation. Jon simply nodded and smiled.

“My Lady Sansa,” Tyrion finally said stepping forward, “it’s so good to see you again, Safe and sound and back in your home.” Tyrion grinned at her.

“It is, my lord. I am glad to see that you could escape King’s Landing with your head on your shoulders,” she half-joked. “Welcome to you all. You are my brother’s, the king, guests here,” she continued turning to look to the new arrivals. “…And so you will be treated as so. House Stark does respect the guest right,” she said with solemnity. “Now if you follow me, we’ll continue the conversations in the Great Hall where House Stark’s vassal houses wait for you,” she finished turning on her heels and walking towards the building.

Jon looked at Daenerys and then went after his sister. Daenerys turned to speak with Grey Worm who immediately left the fortress’ walls to check on the Unsullied and to ensure the food supplies were stored in an appropriate place inside the castle. After he had gone, she followed Jon.

Once inside the building, Daenerys and her retinues were offered bread and salt to fulfil the tradition of the guest right before continuing to the Great Hall. Daenerys understood why it had been so important for Sansa to inform them of such a small thing. Her mother and brother, along almost the rest of her family and House, which included the pregnant wife of his brother, had been betrayed and slaughtered like livestock under the protection of guest right. The Gods punished those acts and Daenerys felt relieved when she remembered that House Frey had paid for its crimes, even if the subject remained a mystery.

When the doors of the Great Hall opened, her retinue was received by an amount of lords sitting on benches around long wooden tables placed around the hall’s walls. At the back of it, there was a table located on a platform from which it overlooked the rest of the room. Sansa walked with Jon to the table and she followed. She could hear the murmurs at her advance, but she could also hear whispers about _‘the Imp’_ and especially about Ser Jorah. She decided to ignore them, for now. Jon was indicated to take a seat in the centre of the table, with Sansa and Ser Davos at his left and Daenerys and Tyrion at his right. Lord Varys sat in a chair next to Tyrion, but a bit behind, while Missandei and Ser Jorah stood behind Daenerys.

Jon took advantage of the last murmurs and leaned his head towards his sister.

“Where’s Lord Baelish, Sansa?” he asked quietly. She didn’t turn when she replied, but her voice sounded like ice.

“He was executed for treason.”

Daenerys felt both Jon Snow and Tyron Lannister freeze under the statement. She had heard not very nice things about the late man and thus, she couldn’t feel sorry about his death, but she could understand that Tyrion had known him and that Jon could worry about his sister’s coldness towards the man’s death.

“How…?” Jon began, but he interrupted himself as the Great Hall hushed. “We will talk about this later,” he whispered almost inaudibly. Then he cleared his throat, stood up and addressed his people. “It is good to be finally at home, my lords. It’s been a few moons since we last spoke, but when I left Winterfell I did it with two intentions,” he said loudly. Everybody listened carefully to his words. “I fulfilled my promise: I return with as much dragonglass as we need to forge weapons to destroy the Army of the Dead and with powerful allies” he said looking at Daenerys. “Queen Daenerys and I travelled to King’s Landing to parley with Cersei Lannister and she has accepted to send her troops north to fight with us in the war to come,” he stated. On his words, the people at the Great Hall started shouting and cursing. ‘An alliance with a Lannister and a Targaryen!’ was heard among the crowd.

“I told you my lords that we needed allies and I meant it. The Night King commands an army that grows larger by the day and we must band together. I wish not to forgive the affronts House Lannister has committed against the North. That some members of House Lannister have committed against us,” he clarified, clearly excluding Tyrion. “…But we need as many men we can gather to fight for life. This is not a battle about who sits on the Iron Throne, it is a fight about survival!” he exclaimed.

“What happens when we defeat the Army of the Dead, your grace?” a white-bearded man asked with a northern accent. “Will we remain neutral in the war for the Iron Throne?”

The Hall hushed once again. Daenerys tensed in her chair, as this was something they had wished not to discuss so soon, but still they should have foreseen that would come up anyway.

“No, we won’t,” Jon firmly replied. The Hall started shouting again. “I intend to help Queen Daenerys in her fight against Cersei Lannister to end her tyranny once the Great War is over, Lord Glover. The North simply cannot allow Cersei to remain in the Iron Throne,” he stated.

“So you’ve bent the knee!” Lord Glover yelled. “You’ve betrayed the North!” His words caused a huge commotion and everybody started to stand up and talk to each other loudly. Jon tried to speak again to ease them, but he was ignored. However another voice, softer, but colder told them to quiet and Daenerys turned to see Lady Sansa standing.

“I must remind you, Lord Glover, that you sworn allegiance to King Jon and that suggesting what you just implied could be taken as treason,” she said calmly. Lord Glover took a seat and remained quiet listening to Lady Sansa. “I didn’t like my brother’s decision to travel to Dragonstone when we received Lord Tyron’s raven. You were here, in this very same room and you know the words I spoke,” she explained. “But I was wrong. My brother went to meet with Queen Daenerys and he returned with dragonglass supplies, a much bigger army we could ever hope for, and alive,” she remarked. “Any doubt we could have had about Queen Daenerys’ intentions should vanish with her promise to aid the North. She is here to fight with us,” she finished.

“She is here, Lady Sansa. Indeed. But where is her army? The men we saw can barely reach the eight thousand,” another men asked.

“Lord Cerwin, the Dothraki are travelling by land and they should arrive as soon as the weather allows them,” Jon intervened.

“A Dothraki horde travelling freely on our lands! Savages uncontrolled!” Lord Glover hit back.

Daenerys lost her temper at his words. “You must excuse me, Lord Glover, but you will not speak in those terms about the Dothraki,” she told him.

“And you must excuse me, Queen Daenerys, but you are not my queen and you cannot command me,” he spat out. The whole Great Hall went silent. Daenerys could feel Tyron begging for her to not say something that would throw their advances to waste, but she couldn’t help herself.

“You are right, Lord Glover, I am not your queen,” she conceded, though she thought to herself ‘yet’. “But I am here to defend the North from those who would destroy it, and those who would fight on my behalf are the ones you are spitefully calling _‘savages’_. The Dothraki are riding at this very moment to fight for you so you can go back to your family and the warmth of your hearth once the war is over. They travelled half the world to help me on my task, which right now is the defence of the Seven Kingdoms from the coming storm and I won’t tolerate the insolence of a Northern lord who seems to forget which is his place.” The tension could be cut with a knife. “I am here because King Jon asked for my assistance and House Targaryen’s duty has always been the protection of the Realm” she finished.

At her words, Lord Glover laughed. “The protection of Realm? Explain this to me, Queen Daenerys. When your father executed innocent men by burning them with wildfire, was he protecting the Realm?” he mocked her.

“My father’s deeds are inexcusable and you won’t hear me justifying them. He earned his name. But House Targaryen cannot be held accountable for the crimes a sole member committed. I am not responsible for his actions as you see, Lord Glover, I wasn’t even born when he carried them through,” she exclaimed. “However, I apologised to King Jon on behalf of House Targaryen when he first set foot in Dragonstone, for the sake of forming a new alliance between two great houses that had worked together before. I might not be your queen, Lord Glover, but King Jon is and you need to respect his decisions,” she reprimanded him. A murmur followed her statement.

She knew she had overstepped a bit, but she couldn’t help feeling the ungratefulness these people were already showing to those who would die defending a land that wasn’t their just because she commanded so. Besides, she hadn’t liked the tone Lord Glover had used to address Jon when he had spoken and she started to see what Ser Davos had wanted to warn her about when they were still on the road.

“I understand what Queen Daenerys means, your grace,” a firm girlish voice spoke. Daenerys looked among the crown and she watched as a girl barely in her teenage addressed Jon. “We are grateful that you have managed to convince her to fight for our kingdom, the North,” she continued stressing the ‘our kingdom’. “…But she has brought people with her who broke our laws and who, should they be respected, must be exiled or… executed,” she pointed out.

Daenerys froze up, realising she was referring to Ser Jorah. She straightened her back on the chair and looked to the girl in defiant. She wasn’t going to allow her to threaten her bear.

“Lady Mormont,” Jon replied. “I know the crimes Ser Jorah once committed, but he is now redeemed from them. He fought for the liberation of the former Bay of Slaves, now the Bay of Dragons, with the Queen and he is now free of any guilt. I, Jon Snow, pardon him and welcome him once again in the North,” he told her.

Daenerys felt her heart fill with gratefulness and turned to smile at Jorah, who was coming to the front.

“Lady Mormont, I hereby declare that I have no intention to return to Bear Island to claim any right. My place is right beside Queen Daenerys and I shall die fighting for her,” Ser Jorah sworn. “I just wish we could speak afterwards, Lyanna. I am really happy to finally meet you,” he added shyly.

Daenerys looked at Lady Mormont, whose sight seemed fixated in Jorah. She finally nodded and took a seat on the bench.

Suddenly the Northerners started to cheer and applaud, as if celebrating their reunion. Tyron leaned to murmur in her ear how strange these people were, which made her laugh.

“I recall you telling me ‘ _it was dreary in the North’_ , Lord Tyrion; however, they seem to never get bored” she whisper amused. Tyrion looked at her and laughed too.

Jon then called off the meeting and informed them that they would start the preparations for the war after supper that very day. The Northerners assented and they finally left the hall after chanting ‘ _The King in the North!’_ several times.

Their sort of small council waited until they were left alone to start talking. Ser Jorah asked for permission to go and talk with Lyanna Mormont, which Daenerys granted and he left. Then Missandei offered herself to go to supervise their accommodation and Tyron and Lord Varys decided to join her. Therefore, only Daenerys, Ser Davos, Jon and Lady Sansa remained, and she knew that Jon was dying to go see his sibling.

“Lady Sansa, I would like to see Winterfell, but I am afraid King Jon wishes to go and see your siblings,” she said looking at the red-hair woman. “Perhaps you could show me around, if that isn’t much of a trouble,” she smiled.

Sansa looked at her for a moment before she replied. “Of course, your grace. It would be my pleasure. Come with me,” she replied offering her her arm. Daenerys took it delicately with her hands and they both turned to start the tour when Jon called her.

“Your grace, I’ll see you at supper,” he told her grinning. His eyes had lost his solemnity and it had been replaced by the emotion that he had reserved only for her.

Daenerys smiled back, taken aback by the way he had looked at her.

“Of course, King Jon. See you at supper,” she assented. Then she looked at Davos and added, “Ser Davos” while tilting her head. And like that Lady Stark and herself exited the room.

They started with the common spaces and everywhere they went, people would acknowledge them and then continue working. They visited the kitchens, the forge, the stables and the new grain stores. Those last spaces were a group of wooden naves that had been built recently with the purpose of storing the food supplies the people and the armies would need for the winter.

“Isn’t it dangerous to build something only with wood, Lady Sansa? King Jon told me Winterfell has suffered a couple of fires,” Daenerys asked when she had finished her explanation about the construction procedures.

“It should be, but one of the builders in charge found out that if we placed dried lichens between the layers of wood, the fire would take longer to catch and to expand,” she explained. “We cannot afford to lose the scarce food we are gathering.”

“I am glad that I can contribute with my part of supplies for the winter. We brought some of it with us, but the Dothraki are carrying with them the bulk of it,” she smiled. “I must congratulate you, Lady Sansa. I am fully aware of your efforts to rebuild your home and the result is impressive,” Daenerys tried to compliment her.

Daenerys saw Sansa studying her for a brief moment, trying to guess if she was laughing at her, but Daenerys’ smile was sincere and eventually she nodded. Sansa guided her out of the grain stores and into the direction of what she informed was the First Keep. It was an old fortress that had been long abandoned, but Sansa let her know that the armies would be placed inside it as she had had the builders restore it in prevision of their arrival. Daenerys could hear the racket of soldiers chatting inside the old building. At first she thought that was the place where they were heading, but Lady Sansa passed along it, leaving it behind. Eventually, they reached what seemed to be an old graveyard where an old ironwood door welcomed them.

Lady Sansa pushed the door, not without an effort as it was heavy and invited her in. Daenerys looked at her with suspicious as the place was silent and the path in front of them was dark and cold. Lady Sansa seemed to understand her hesitancy because she moved to her side and took one of the torches that hanged from the iron shackle that guarded the door. She then entered waiting for Daenerys to follow her.

Once inside, Lady Sansa started to descend the spiral steps that had remained hidden in the dark, but that now disclosed in front of them under the torchlight. They descended for what seemed an eternity, until Lady Sansa halted and turned to enter one of the corridors that opened in one of the landings of the stone staircase.

Daenerys’ eyes took a while to adjust to the dim light, but when Lady Sansa lit one of the torches that hanged from the wall, Daenerys was left gawping.

She found herself surrounded by statues that stared at her, like judging her intromission in their sacred place. They looked at her with their marble eyes and, for an instance, she felt like she was back in the cave in Dragonstone, with the Children of the Forest’ signs and drawings reminding her how little and ephemeral she was.

“Where are we?” she asked gasping.

“We are in the crypts of Winterfell, your grace. The Kings of Winter are buried here to rest for eternity,” she explained solemnly. “Come with me,” she invited her.

Sansa walked further inside the crypt. Daenerys followed, looking around her. They were moving along a line of granite pillars that separated the different statues, enclosed by the vaulted ceiling, where the dead members of House Stark were entombed.

They stopped in front of a statue that resembled a teenage boy with curly hair.

“Your brother Rickon?” she hesitated. Sansa nodded and then she moved to the next one. This time the image reflected a young man, with curly hair too and a wolf resting on his feet.

“My brother Robb, the Young Wolf” she explained. “He was acclaimed the first King in the North after Torrhen Stark and died fighting for my father’s memory,” she continued moving onwards the next statue.

Daenerys walked following her steps and positioned herself in front of the sculpture that she intuited was Lord Eddard Stark.

“House Stark members have a place to rest in here, though according to the old traditions, only the Kings of Winter could have a statue above their grave. My father changed that,” she said moving to the next of the statues. They were now looking at two hefty men, or so the old shapes seemed to be. “After the murdering of my uncle and grandfather by your father,” she said coolly. Daenerys, however, didn’t hit back. She continued staring at the stone faces that could no longer see through, “he ordered the modelling of one sculpture for every lost member of our house,” she explained. “And thus I have continued to do so.”

Daenerys turned her head to look at Sansa. She could see her restraining her emotions and trying to maintain her indifferent mask. However, Daenerys knew better. She had been there before; afraid to open to strangers and feeling the need to prove something to the world.

“I am sorry for your loss, Lady Sansa. I truly am,” she said sympathetically. “I never got to meet my family, except from my late brother Viserys, but I wish I had,” she confessed.

“Even though you know they were monsters?” she asked rudely.

Daenerys was taken aback by her accusatory tone.

“My father was an evil man and I understand…” she began with her sequence, tired of having to explain herself and the actions of people she had never met.

“Your brother Rhaegar kidnapped my aunt and raped her. She died by the end of the Rebellion on my father’s arms after only the Gods know what he did to her,” she raged.

“I know that is the story you Northerners had wanted to believe, but I am certain that it is far from the truth,” she imposed herself. “My brother Rhaegar was everything my father never was and he was kind and a good man,” she continued. “He committed many mistakes during the last year of his life, but kidnapping your aunt and raping her wasn’t something he would do.”

“How can you be so sure if you didn’t know him?” Sansa asked with spite.

“Ser Barristan Selmy served me until the end of his days as he had once served my brother and father. He spoke uprightly about him and I believe Ser Barristan’s words over any others,” she explained. “If I am not mistaken, you must have known him too while you were a prisoner in King’s Landing. Tell me Lady Sansa, does it seem to you that the man who openly defied the usurper Joffrey would lie about something like that?” she asked her calmly.

Sansa seemed to reflect on her answer and then she shook her head.

“I know the stories that the people in the Seven Kingdoms tell about my family and that many of you believe that House Targaryen had it coming. I know what both peasants and lords whispered on my back: ‘ _The Mad King’s daughter_ ’, fearing that I’ll burn them alive and have them thrown to my dragons.”

“Wouldn’t you? Haven’t you?” She asked back.

“Yes I have. I’ve burned people alive, traitors; and I have fed people to my dragons, those who hunted my people like miserable rats. I do not deny it; I bring fire and blood to my enemies. My dragons are an extension of me and they are my weapons. I am not ashamed. What would you do with those who betray you and do you wrong, Lady Sansa? Would you be forgiving with those who destroyed your life and killed your family?” she inquired her.

Sansa’s eyes shined with rage and for the first time since they had entered the crypt, Daenerys knew the fire burning behind her gaze wasn’t directed to her.

“I would feed them to the hounds,” she replied in a whisper. Daenerys looked at her trying to guess the meaning of her words and suddenly she remembered Ser Davos’ hesitancy to let her know Lady Sansa’s punishment to Ramsay Bolton. Now she knew.

They stared at each other and Daenerys felt a new kind of understanding forming between them, a sisterhood bond.

Eventually their eyes pulled apart and Sansa proceeded to position in front of the last statue of the line. Daenerys moved to her side to catch a glimpse of the sculpture that was dedicated to Lady Lyanna. Her face had been damaged by time, but still Daenerys could sense that she had been beautiful. Something caught her eye at her feet: there she found a bucket of blue winter roses that pulled her back to the dream she had had back on the vessel. Sansa saw her stroking the petals.

“My aunt Lyanna loved blue winter roses and my father had the servants bring fresh flowers every week to honour her memory. He never talked about her, but I know he loved her a lot,” she resumed their conversation.

However, Daenerys couldn’t hear her, she had been struck with a feeling of familiarity she couldn’t shake and her sight started to fade… though when she opened her eyes, Sansa was grabbing her arm to steady her.

“Are you all right, your grace?” she worried. “You’ve paled.”

Daenerys felt still a bit uneasy, but she nodded to reassure Sansa. She had lost the conscious just for a brief second, but an image had filled up her mind stirring something in her. “Yes, I am just really tired and the air here feels condensed.”

They heard strong steps approaching from the staircase and they both turned startled. Bright blood-red eyes stared at them from the darkness and a quiet growl made Daenerys catch her breath. Nevertheless, Sansa seemed to relax as a gigantic white wolf entered the light.

‘Ghost’ Daenerys thought to herself. Jon had told her about his direwolf, a mythological creature that many had believed extinct and that had turned out to be an extension of his own body. She remembered the story behind the discovery of the litter of direwolves; how at first they had found five pups suited for each of the Stark children, as Theon Greyjoy had pointed out back then, and how among the bushes, hidden, he had found another one, the smallest and the strangest of them all: a pup with fur like white snow. He had taken it to himself and named him Ghost as he walked as if he was a shadow.

Daenerys looked at the beast and to Sansa’s surprise walked towards it, raising her hand to let the animal smell her. She had seen the Dothraki do this with the horses and Jon had done something similar when he had petted Drogon in the cliff of Dragonstone, so she set for that approach too.

The wolf got closer to her and slowly started to sniff her hand first and then her whole body. The height of his head could almost reach her chin and she could feel his warm breath caressing the skin of her neck. She glanced at his fur and felt driven to touch it, to feel if it was as soft as it looked. The wolf seemed to read her mind because with a small push of his head, his jaw came to rest on the palm of her hand. Daenerys began to stroke him gently and the direwolf reciprocated the gesture with a soft growl.

“It seems that he likes you,” Sansa’s voice broke the spell. Her expression was clear; she was wondering why he was so mesmerised with the Queen.

“Jon told me about him,” she blundered and immediately regretted her words. Sansa’s eyes squinted trying to see beyond Daenerys’ lack of formality to refer to Jon. She hurried to add, “Though I must admit I wasn’t expecting him to be so big,” she chuckled.

Sansa seemed to let it pass because she cracked a smile.

“Should we go?” she asked her. Daenerys nodded and they three left the crypts. Daenerys asked her then to show her the library at Winterfell as she remembered the book Jon had promised to look for her once in Winterfell. She decided she would find it herself, granting him more time to spare with his siblings. Sansa took her back to the Great Keep, which she now knew it was the new castle, and they ascended to one of the towers from where the whole of Winterfell could be observed. The views were impressive. Ghost remained all the while with them, following them like a real shadow.

Eventually, they reached an old wooden door and Sansa saw her off, mentioning she wanted to go find her siblings.

“You’ll find Samwell Tarly inside, he will help you out,” she said turning to leave.

Daenerys froze. ‘Samwell Tarly. Why would he be there?’ she thought to herself.

“Lady Stark, why would Samwell Tarly be in Winterfell? Isn’t he supposed to be from the Reach?” she asked trying to sound unworried.

“Yes, he is, your grace, but he served in the Night’s Watch with _Jon_ ,” she explained emphasising the last word. Daenerys’ heart started to beat at an uneasy pace. She knew Jon had a friend named Sam who had served with him at the Wall, Jon had told her that himself, however he had failed to mention his friends’ noble name. “He was sent to the Citadel to become a maester, but he quit and came here to help Jon fight the White Walkers. He arrived a fortnight ago,” she added. Daenerys’ pulse was pounding furiously. ‘Could this same Sam have been the one to save Ser Jorah as well?’ she asked herself horrified. She wondered why Jorah hadn’t told her the full name of his saviour, but the answer was simple: she had executed his healer’s family and he would spare her the remorse.

“Thank you, Lady Sansa. I’ll see you at supper,” she dismissed her. Sansa made Ghost a sign to follow her, but the wolf looked at her impassibly and Sansa gave up. Once she disappeared down the stairs, Daenerys took a breath, put her queenly mask back on and entered the library.

The room presented tall walls covered by wooden shelves where books of all types rested waiting to be read. It was illuminated by candelabras hanging from the ceiling, with wax dripping over the tables that were placed around the room. It smelt of parchment and ink and the silence was broken by the crackling of the fire burning somewhere in the room. She followed the sound of the firewood flaming on the embers and she arrived in the hearth. Ghost dropped in the floor in front of the fireplace setting himself to doze.

Daenerys was looking affectingly to the animal, when the noise of volumes hitting the boarded floor startled her. She spun around to see a chubby man trying to pick up the mess he had spread all over the floor. Daenerys quickly went to help him out, catching the man by surprise, who began to stutter apologetic words.

“A… a… apologies, your grace,” he said refusing to look her in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll go if you wish,” he quickly added.

“It is fine…Sam? Is that it?” she told him hesitatingly. He opened his mouth, blindsided for the queen’s recognition of his persona and nodded. “I must thank you for your excellent work of research. King Jon told me that it was you who discovered how to kill White Walkers and wights and thus, we are closer to a victory thanks to you. Moreover, you discovered the emplacement of the dragonglass at the caves in Dragonstone, so the Crown expresses its gratitude for your contribution to our cause,” she said solemnly. “Personally, I am even more grateful to you for saving Ser Jorah’s life when no one else would. I will be forever in your debt, Samwell,” she confessed affectingly. Daenerys saw him blushing and starting to open his mouth to reply, but she couldn’t miss this opportunity to be sincere to him, before he started with the usual flattering she normally received. He needed to know what kind of person she was, before he could judge her fully. “However, I am afraid that it is also my responsibility to communicate you the bad news. When I set foot in Westeros I did it to retake the Iron Throne from the usurpers that now sit on it. I did it with the support of noble and ancient houses of Westeros such as the Martells of Dorne and the Tyrell from the Reach. However, the strategies I followed soon seemed to be useless and we lost Dorne in a naval battle and the Reach, sacked and spoiled by unfaithful houses that betrayed their oaths. I had to do the thing I had been preventing myself from doing,” she related. “Have you seen the dragons overflying Winterfell?” she asked him and waited until he had nodded. “I didn’t want to use them because I wished to spare innocent lives and I didn’t want my dragons to burn cities and kill civilians. Eventually, I followed my council’s advice and faced the Lannisters and their allies on an open field battle. I took one of my dragons with me and at the end the Dothraki subdued my enemies. Those who threw away their weapons were given the choice to either surrender and join me or die,” she said coolly. “Many of the soldiers accepted the first choice and bent the knee. However, there was a proud old lord who had once fought on the Targaryen’s ranks and now was accusing me of being a foreign invader with no ties to the land. He was given the opportunity to join the Night’s Watch, if he would not join me, but he still refused,” she explained to Sam, looking him right in the eyes. Daenerys could see his confusion through the flame reflected in his pupils and how he was trying to guess the meaning of her words. “But, that wasn’t all. When I was going to proceed with the execution, the lord’s son, stepped forward in defiant, and claimed that I’d need to execute him too,” she continued. Finally, Sam seemed to realise who were the characters in her story and he looked at her considering the weight of her confession. Daenerys waited patiently until Sam decided to reply.

“Did they suffer?” he murmured.

“I can’t tell. Dragonfire is said to be hotter than wildfire,” she answered. Sam looked at her and Daenerys noticed he was sweating, though she didn’t know if it was because of the fireplace or because his inner turmoil. “You must know, Samwell Tarly, that I do not take prisoners. I didn’t spend the last years of my life breaking others’ chains to put some myself” she clarified. “The Dorthraki also believe that beheading is one of the worst affronts you can do to someone because by doing it you are depriving them from entering the Night Lands where they would ride in the afterlife, so it won’t be an execution method I will use,” she explained, as suddenly feeling the necessity to do it. She didn’t regret her actions towards the Tarlys, she had made her point clear and thanks to it, now she could assure some stability in the Reach during winter. The rest of the houses had immediately surrendered and had started to rule the land under her supervision.

“Are my mother and sister safe?” Sam asked with a trembling voice.

“I believe they are. I ordered the survivors of the battle to return to their homes and to keep doing their duties as before. The heir of House Redwyne was in charge to communicate Lady Tarly of the new order,” she let him know. “I meant it when I said that I intend not to harm innocent people. Your mother and sister didn’t betray anybody. Neither did you,” she concluded.

They stayed quiet for a while, unsure about what to say next. Daenerys gave Ghost a quick look and decided to leave the room. However, when she had passed by Sam, she heard him speak.

“I am a brother of the Night’s Watch or what seems to be left of it. I never wanted to join it; I always wanted to become a maester of the Citadel in Old Town. I grew up believing that I was not suited to be a knight like my brother, but that I could still bring some honour to my house by joining the order. My Lord father, however, disagreed and when he found out he locked me in a dungeon and chained me to its wall until I forgot about that ‘ _nonsense_ ’” he narrated. Daenerys turned slowly and looked at him. “But apparently, that wasn’t enough for my him. So when I turned 18 he called upon a hunting trip. I thought that he was trying to make amends with me by inviting me in. The night before we left, we were celebrating a feast for my name’s day and my father called me to his chambers. He then looked at me and gave me an ultimatum: _‘tonight you will inform your family of your decision of joining the Night’s Watch or you won’t ever return from this trip. I’ll tell your mother it was a hunting accident’_ ,” he said calmly.

Daenerys gawked at him horrified. She couldn’t believe what he just told her.

“The last time I saw him was last year. I had left the Wall on Jon’s orders to go to the Citadel to study the myth of the Long Night and the Walkers. On my way to Old Town I stopped by Hornhill to…” he stopped suddenly embarrassed and blushing. “…So Gilly and little Sam would stay there under my family’s protection. My mother was beyond happy to see me, but my father… He insulted me, once more, threatened me to have me kill, again, and my brother, Dickon, didn’t stop him, nor he stood up for me,” he finished bitterly.

Daenerys felt her eyes clouded and she quickly blinked to dissolve them. The idea of apologising to Sam had crossed her mind while she had told him about his father and brother’s execution, but after hearing the abuse and mistreatment Sam had endured on his father’s hands, she felt glad she had stuck to her word and had him executed.

“I might not have wished my brother to perish, your grace. But I cannot feel slightly sorry about the death of a father who never loved me and threatened several times to murder me in cold blood,” he said looking at her in the eyes. “And you do not need to apology for the decision you made,” he assured her. He then, to Daenerys’ surprise tilted his head, pointing some chairs placed next to a big wooden table, like inviting her to sit. Daenerys walked towards that direction and took a seat next to Sam. She interlaced her hands on top of the table and returned his gaze.

“I grew up reading stories on the Targaryen Dynasty and their dragons and thanks to you now I am able to live history instead of reading it. I know about all you’ve achieved in Essos, your grace: from the sack of Astapor when you got your army of Unsullied, to the free of Yunkay and the conquest of Meereen. I know the things you’ve done; the slaves you’ve freed and how somewhere in the Dothraki Sea you hatched three dragon eggs,” he told her with emotion soaking his voice.

“How do you know all of that? The stories that reached Westeros were not very accurate,” she joked remembering the story that circulated about her drinking blood to keep herself young and beautiful.

“Oh! Maester Aemon used to ask me to read the parchments he received about you for him,” he replied cheerfully.

“Maester Aemon?” Daenerys asked perplexed. Aemon was a Valyrian name, carried by many members of her house.

“I thought that maybe Jon had told you, your grace, I’m sorry,” he apologised. “Maester Aemon was the Maester of the Night’s Watch. He was a Targaryen, son of Maekar I, and in his last days he lamented that he was blind and disable to travel the world to meet you. He wanted to be with you, to support you,” he told her. “He once told me: ‘ _A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing’_ ,” he added as if thinking something to himself. “He always regretted that he couldn’t do anything to be there for you,” he concluded.

“’ _Regretted’_?” she asked then with misted eyes. She couldn’t agree more with the old maester’s statement. The feeling of loneliness was worst that the smallest of cages, constricting her heart, which sometimes threatened to burst.

“Yes, your grace. He died shortly before I left for the Citadel. He passed away peacefully in his bed,” he explained to her.

Daenerys breathed heavily and tried to compose herself as she felt the tears pooling in her eyes. There had been another Targaryen alive apart from his brother and her and she had been too late to meet him. She wondered why Jon hadn’t said anything about Aemon Targaryen, but deep down she knew why. He had wanted to prevent her from the feeling of helplessness that she was feeling right now.

“Thank you very much, Sam Tarly. For telling me about Aemon,” she said gratefully. “I wish I had met him.”

Ghost raised his head, suddenly, like listening to an imperceptible sound. Daenerys and Sam turned their heads towards the door when they could finally heard footsteps approaching. Ghost trotted in that direction and the door opened to disclose Jon’s figure. He beamed with happiness at the view of his direwolf.

“Boy! I’ve been looking out for you! Here you are!” He said kneeling to pet the animal, which reciprocated the gesture by licking his cheeks.

Daenerys smiled at the image in front of her. Jon raised his eyes to meet hers and then smirked at both Sam and her.

“Sam! My brother Bran just told me you were here in Winterfell,” he said walking towards his friend, who stood up and embraced the Northerner. “I am glad to have you here,” he said with his husky voice. “How are Gilly and little Sam doing? I’m looking forward to seeing them.”

“They are well… your grace?” he questioned him dubitably.

“Sam… It’s still Jon for you,” he replied grinning.

“Ok, then. But it seems that in the time we’ve been apart you have decided to break every Night’s Watch oath,” Sam joked smiling.

Jon laughed loudly, infecting Sam with his laughter. Then he turned to look at her and added half-serious, half-caught in a laugh “Aye, but not all of them, not just yet.”

Sam looked at her with a curious, but strange gaze, and then he blushed, to Daenerys’ surprise. Sam fidgeted awkwardly. She would need to ask Lord Tyrion about that Night’s Watch oath.

“I see that you’ve met each other,” Jon said pointing at them.

“Yes, Queen Daenerys has had the amiability to converse with me,” Sam grinned at her.

“It’s been my pleasure, Sam,” she asserted.

Jon looked at them with a look of understanding and then turned to his friends.

“I need to talk to the Queen, Sam. In private,” Jon said, becoming serious suddenly. “So if you’d excuse us…” Daenerys stared at him worrying.

“Yes, of course,” he replied. He started walking towards the door, but he swindled half way. “Jon, have you spoken to Bran?”

“Yes. He is… changed,” he said hesitantly. “He told me that he would like to speak to us both,” he added giving Sam a look. “So, see you later,” Jon dismissed him. Daenerys waited until the door closed behind Sam to rise from her chair.

Jon got closer to her and grabbed her by the waist to pull her close.

“How are you? Was my sister to harsh?” he whispered brining their face closer.

Daenerys shook her head and chuckle. “Just the expected degree of harshness. How are your siblings?”

His countenance darkened.

“They have changed a great deal. But nothing we cannot overcome,” he said. “I am glad that they are back, safe. That’s what matters,” he added kissing her softly in the lips.

Daenerys would have wanted to push further into the kiss, but she warned herself to be cautious, so eventually she pulled apart and fixed her eyes in his. He sighted.

“What were you wanting to tell me?” she asked lightly.

Jon stepped back and took a parchment from his pocket. “This arrived a couple of days ago addressed to us both,” he said to her, handing the roll. “Maester Wolkan just gave it to me.”

Daenerys grabbed it, worried about the content of the parchment.

“It is from Brianne of Tarth. They are still stuck at the crossings of the Vale and they can’t go through it,” he summarised. “We are fucked,” he seethed.

“No, we are not,” Daenerys tried to calm him. “I know that it is a setback on our schedule, but we still have time to reach the Wall before the Night King attacks it. Do not lose faith,” she pleaded firmly.

“How?!” he said raising his voice. “How do we get the Dothraki through the snow?”

Daenerys remained calm and let the answer form in her head.

“I’ll go,” she told him. “I’ll take Drogon and Rhaegal and I’ll use them to let the Dothraki come through,” she stated. “In less than a week we will be here,” she grabbed his hands. He shook his head.

“I do not want you to go. You are safe here in Winterfell. Wouldn’t it just expose you to all the dangers that we were trying to prevent when we decided to travel together by sea?” he asked her.

She glanced at him with a teasing look.

“ I thought it was clear that we were travelling together because _it sent a better message_ , Jon,” she chuckled emphasising their innuendo. “Still,” she continued, “I can’t think of a safer place for me than beside my Bloodriders and my children. We need the Dothraki here as soon as possible, so I’ll go,” she stated.

“Then I’ll go with you,” he replied.

“No, you won’t. You are the King in the North, the commander of our armies in the war to come and you’ve spent enough time away from your family and your people. I’ll leave right away, but you will stay here to start the preparations for the march to the Wall and the planning of the strategies to fight the Others. Ser Jorah will help you and I’ll tell Grey Worm to follow both of your instructions until I return,” she commanded.

“Is that an order, your grace?” Jon asked.

“Yes, it is, Jon Snow,” she replied firmly.

“Then, I’ll do as my queen says.”


	5. Arya I

 

**ARYA I**

“You’re nervous.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are!”

Arya turned to look at her sister with a deathly stare, but instead of fear or horror, she found the taunting smile of her sister beaming in her face. She held her gaze for a while longer, but eventually had to crack a smile as well. If she were honest, she was nervous. She had waited for this moment to come since the moment she had parted south to King’s Landing many years ago and now she trembled by the thought of ruining the moment. She had changed; she was no longer the little girl Jon Snow had loved and she feared his rejection. She had missed him the most and knowing that he was almost home filled her with a kind of gleeful anticipation, but all the same terror, she had never experienced before. She sighted confirming her sister’s words.

“Yes, you’re right. I am nervous. I do not know if he will like what he’ll find,” she confessed in an outburst of honesty.

Sansa gawked at her sincerity.

“Arya…” she started, “you do not need to worry about that. It is Jon,” she reassured her, “he loves you. He will love you all the same, no matter the things you’ve done or who you’ve become. He is our brother and he will be beyond happy to see you,” she said to her touching her shoulder.

Arya stared at her sister’s hand and she realised that she felt comforted by her touch. They were getting closer, closer than they had ever been and they trusted each other. Against all odds, Littlefinger’s execution had united them and now they had started to develop the relationship two sisters should have. At first, she had felt reluctant to open up to someone, but she had finally moved on from her fears and she had used the time she had with her family to be with them. She had found out that Sansa wasn’t as dull as she had thought. She still was a ‘lady’, but her experiences had made her wiser and she wasn’t the naïve girl she had last seen in King’s Landing. They were far too different, but in a way they completed each other. She had to admit that she liked their new bond.

“I’d like to meet with him in private,” she finally spoke. “I know that you expect us to receive the retinue in the courtyard, but I do not know if I can do that. I am not a lady,” she explained.

“All right, I won’t push you,” she conceded. “I’ll let you do it on your own way.”

Arya looked at her in surprise. “No resistance?”

Sansa shook her head.

“Good,” she said amused and turned to look to the horizon.

They were standing in the battlements above the south door, from where they were expecting Jon to arrive. She had spent the last days watching over that same spot, hopeful to distinguish the distant forms that would reveal his brother’s new ally’s army. They had received a raven form White Harbour more than a week ago informing them that they had already parted from the white city and that they should be expecting them in about a week. However, a snowstorm had broken out and Arya believed that they might have been slowed down by the blizzards. She had been waiting for them since then.

In the distance, on top of the hill that faced the fortress of Winterfell, Arya suddenly caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a dark figure, soon joined by other human forms. Her heart skipped a beat.

“He is here,” she heard Sansa say. The forms started descending down the hill and they could see the vast army that followed them. She could see the merman of the Manderly sigil and if she wasn’t mistaken the black and red Targaryen banners too.

Out of the blue, a screech followed by a roar broke the sky and from the clouds that opened allowing the timid rays of the Sun to filter, two massive winged forms appear to their sight. ‘Dragons,’ Arya thought stunned. The beasts flew in circles over the army, their green and black scales shining under the sunshine and Arya could hear the people of Winterfell gasping and shouting in awe.

“They are real,” Sansa said, an astounded look covering her face. “The dragons,” she explained unnecessarily.

“Yes, they are,” Arya smiled. She had heard the stories about the Dragon Queen and her endeavours in Essos and how she had subdued the slavers’ cities to her will helped by her dragons when she had been in Braavos. However, she had put on hold her childhood dreams of meeting one of the dragon lords from the legends for her vengeance. All the same, she was about to meet Daenerys Targaryen, brought to her by her brother, on her way to accomplish her revenge, so she couldn’t be more satisfied.

“I’d better go down to receive them,” Sansa informed her. “See you later, Arya,” and she left.

She stayed a bit longer staring as the retinue approached the castle and then she descended to enter the Great Keep. She walked to the kitchens to grab something to eat, suddenly realising she hadn’t eaten since the day before, nerves consuming her. She chatted with the cooks who gladly served her a delicious winter stew with beets and pork. She felt the servants were trying to get information about the new arrivals as if she could give them any of the details they were after. She laughed once more at the tales on Daenerys Targaryen and the Imp and when she started hearing conversations filling the halls of Winterfell she walked toward the back door of the Great Hall. She hid in the shadows, putting into practice one of the many things she had learn in the House of the Black and White under the teaching of the faceless men. She saw Sansa exiting the hall with a silver-hair woman grabbing her arm and for a moment she was tempted to go after them to meet the Dragon Queen once and for all, but she knew that she would have plenty of time to get to know the legendary figure, while the time she had spent apart from Jon would never come back. So, instead, she waited until she heard the door opening once again and a Flea Bottom accent reached her ears informing that the man whose voice it belong to was heading to the forge to check on ‘ _the lad’_. Someone must have silently assented, though she couldn’t see it, because the man left down the corridor. Eventually, the figure that had remained in the threshold, unseen to Arya, walked into the light and started his way in the opposite direction than his companion. What she saw made her eyes mist. It was Jon, but not the boy she had last see, but a man, whose resemblance to their father made her want to cry. Arya’s heart began pounding as she could finally catch a glimpse of the man her brother had become.

She decided to follow him silently to see where he was heading, unsure of how introducing her to him. His footsteps were leading him to the Godswood and Arya decided she wanted their meeting to be alone, not with Bran present, so she advanced to position herself right behind him and with a fast movement, she drew Catspaw from her belt and superficially stuck the pointy end of it to the back of his cloak. Jon froze under the contact of the metal. He slowly turned his head to watch the face of the person who dared to threaten the King of the North in his own castle, but when his eyes locked in hers, he sighted with an indescribable joy that pooled his eyes with tears of happiness.

“Arya,” he gathered to say.

She had been thinking on a colourful greeting for her brother, but the moment she heard his voice, all her walls tumbled. She lowered the dagger and threw herself into his arms, which welcomed her like they were the place where she had always belonged.

He held her tight for a while and then released her, stepping back to examine her. He worn an unbelieving countenance and seemed to struggle to find the words. She decided to take the lead.

“I’ve been waiting for you quite some time, your grace,” she teased him. “I was heading south when I was told that the King in the North had retaken Winterfell. But when I came here some months ago, he had left for the south.”

“Where have you been, Arya? What happened to you?” he questioned her.

“To many places; too many things,” she answered mysteriously. However, she saw Jon furrowing his brown and she regretted her answer. This was Jon, her brother, not some stranger, and she wanted to make up for the lost time, so she obliged herself to reply with sincerity. “I had to leave King’s Landing after father’s execution, the Golden Cloaks were after me and you know what happened to Sansa because she stayed. I wanted to go to the Night’s Watch, to you; I joined a caravan taking men to the Wall, but we never arrived… I travelled for a while around the country, but eventually I left Westeros,” she continued. She was gathering the guts to tell him what happened next. “I went to Braavos to train to become a faceless men.” Jon had been listening to her carefully, but he seemed to have no clue about the group she had intended to join, so she tried to explain it to him. “The faceless men serve the Many-faced God, the God of Death and their servants train in the House of the Black and White to become assassins,” she spat before she regretted her decision. She looked at Jon, who was watching her very serious. “I never completed my training, a girl could never stop being Arya Stark of Winterfell,” she smiled shyly “but I learnt their ways and I headed back to the Seven Kingdoms,” she resumed her narration. “To fulfil my revenge,” she finished.

Jon stared at her and for the first time in a long time she couldn’t tell what was going on someone’s mind. Eventually he whispered with his husky voice.

“What revenge?”

“I have a list of people who have wrong me or our family. Cersei, the Mountain…” she enumerated. “There are people who were on the list, like Meryn Trant, who are no more,” she dropped the insinuation.

Arya saw Jon swallowing hard, trying to understand what his little sister had told him. She panicked, feeling that she was losing him.

“I know that I am not what you might have expected, but…” she began to plead, but was interrupted by Jon.

“You do not have to apology for what you are, for what’ve become,” he told her firmly. “I am glad that you have the tools to defend yourself. I wish you had never had to go through the things you’ve suffered, but you have and you survived and I am proud of you, Arya,” he assured her. “Life was never what we thought it would be, I’ve done myself dishonourable things that I needed to do to survive, so I am in no position to judge whatever you have done, little sister,” he smiled warmly at her. At the sight, Arya threw herself back in his arms, breathing heavily and she remained there for a while.

“What about you?” she whispered eventually to his neck.

“Not much,” he lied and Arya knew it, but she decided not to push it. “I joined the Night’s Watch and learnt of the real threat beyond the Wall. One day Sansa showed up in Castle Black freezing and homeless and I decided to help her conquer Winterfell for our family. But you do know it,” he concluded smiling, obviously omitting many great things. She smiled back, blindsided by his clear lies, but she made the decision to let it be for now. “I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you all,” he stated this time being sincere. “Would you come with me to Bran?” he asked her and she nodded.

They resumed their path towards the Godswood and she decided to settle for a more light-hearted conversation.

“So how is she? The Dragon Queen?” she asked him and immediately noticed his expression soften as butter under a flame. She was surprised by his reaction.

“Do you remember the games we used to play when we were little? About the Targaryens of old?” he replied instead. “She seems taken from one of those stories. She is fierce and brave, tenacious, but she is also kind and good. She may not let it on at first sight, but she…” he stopped himself suddenly shaking his head like reproving himself.

Arya was stunned. He had expected a formal answer from his brother about the Queen, but his reply had expressed all the truth he hadn’t been able to give her in her former question. “She is here to help, Arya. She is bringing her armies to the North to fight with us, for us,” he finished.

Arya watched him, studying his expression and his demeanour and wondered what he was trying to hide, because definitely there was something.

“What is it, Jon? There is something you are not telling me,” she insisted.

He breathed gingerly and finally stopped. “You’re right. There are things that have changed, things that have happened and I would like to tell you, but can’t.”

“I know what happened down south,” Arya told him to invite him to continue. She knew that Jon had bent the knee to Daenerys and, against what Sansa believed, she thought that if he had done it, it would be because he had his reasons. But apparently, he didn’t know that she knew so she offered her sentence to help him out.

“How?” Jon looked surprise. “How do you know? Does anybody else know?” he whispered horrified.

“Sansa told me, she showed me the parchment,” she told him. Jon looked confused and stared at her asking for an explanation. “I know that you are here to _guard_ the North,” she pushed further.

Jon opened his eyes then, realising her implications. Something seemed to click in his mind when he smiled to his sister.

“Yes, but we have decided to not reveal it just yet. Not until de great war is over,” he said resuming walking.

‘ _We’_ she highlighted to herself. She couldn’t help the feeling of being left uninformed and she was furious.

“How is Bran, Arya?” Jon changed the subject abruptly.

“He is fine, though I do not know if we can call him that anymore,” she said coolly.  
They had arrived in the Godwoods and they walked the distance that separated the fence from the Weirdwood, where standing in the centre, next to the thermal pond, towered the Heart Tree. Among the mist produced by the heat of the water, he could see a figure sitting on what seemed to be a portable chair. The man was leaning towards the tree and had his hand pressed against the face of the Heart Tree whose eyes bled sap red as blood. Arya observed how the resin filtered through his fingers, soaking them, and she remembered the scent of blood in her own hands.

“Bran,” Jon said, restraining the impulse to go to embrace him. Arya observed how her brother’s voice woke her younger brother from the vision he was experiencing. She closed her eyes half-way, wondering how profound the vision had been or how effective Jon’s voice was, for Bran never responded at their first calls. He leaned back on the chair and his eyes turned to his normal brown, leaving the white she thought creepy behind. She had seen a lot of terrifying things in her life, but seeing his brother being possessed by the Three-Eyed-Raven was something that agitated her.

“Jon,” Bran finally said and Arya believed to hear a tiny trail of emotion overtaking his usual impassive voice. “Arya,” he turned his head to look at her, catching her by surprise for his acknowledge of her presence.

“It’s good to see you again, Bran,” Jon’s voice quivered. “The last time I saw you, you where lying on the bed, unconscious…”

“I know. ‘ _You would be able to come visit me when you’re better’_ you said,” Bran stated. Arya looked at Jon who looked awestruck. “I am sorry for Catelyn’s harsh words. If only she had known…” he added to himself.

“How do you know it?” Jon asked.

“I am the Three-Eyed-Raven. I see many things; I can be everywhere, time is not even an obstacle.”

“Are you a warg?”

“Yes, but I am much more too,” he said coolly. “I need to tell you something, but Sam has to be here too.”

“Sam? Samwell Tarly. Is he in Winterfell?” Jon inquired.

Bran nodded and then he turned to Arya. “Jon has forgotten to tell you, but Gendry Waters has been travelling with him,” he informed her.

Arya’s heart stopped. ‘Gendry Waters’ was a name she never thought she would hear again. He was dead, killed by the Red Witch who took him from the Brotherhood. She noticed Jon staring at her and when their eyes met, he smiled in assent.

She panicked unsure of what to do and so she turned over her heels to leave the place. Her emotions were overwhelming her, for the second time on one day, and she was not used to such a display of feelings. She heard Jon calling her, but she didn’t turn. She couldn’t explain what Bran’s revelation meant to her, because she didn’t know it herself.

She went back to the keep and roamed along its corridors, trying to clear her mind and most importantly her heart. Her steps were directionless but she ended up in front of the iron door that granted access to the new forge of the fortress. She heard voices talking behind the door, intertwining with the sound of the metal hitting the anvil. She hesitated whether to enter or not, but suddenly the door opened unveiling a man who looked at her amused.

“Ah, you must be Arya,” the man said and Arya could recognise the thick accent from the Flea Bottom she had heard before. “It is a pleasure meeting you. Your brother, the King was looking for you. Have you seen him?” he asked. Arya nodded and the man smiled. “That’s good, lass,” he said and then he turned his head to check something in his back. “I’ll see you latter,” and she didn’t know if that was directed to her or to the shadow that appeared behind him. And then he left.

“Hello, m’lady,” the figure finally greeted her. She examined the young man in front of her, his strong complexion and his bright eyes staring back at her. She could read his beaming happiness all over his face, but she wasn’t going to fall for his tricks. She was still mad at him, though the relief she had experienced shortly before when Bran had told her about his wellbeing was fighting to take over her.

“Hello, Gendry,” she replied. “I though you were dead.”

“I thought _you_ were dead,” he remarked. “I know what happened at the Twins. I thought you died at the Red Wedding,” he said sadly.

“I didn’t. They couldn’t get me,” she replied.

“I am glad they didn’t,” he grinned.

“What happened to you? I thought the Red Witch was going to sacrifice you,” she commented entering the forge and moving to one of the workbenches and sitting on it gracefully.

“She tried, but Ser Davos saved me from her claws and set me free,” he explained. “I returned to King’s Landing and nobody has bothered me since then.”

“Ser Davos?” she inquired.

“Yes, the man you just met. He was Stannis Baratheon’s Hand, but now he serves your brother,” he told her.

“Why are you here? You said you were in King’s Landing, why would you come north?”

“Ser Davos had to sneak Lord Tyrion into King’s Landing to pact a parley with Cersei Lannister through the kingslayer. Ser Davos managed to do so and he came to my workshop to pay me a visit. However, I decided to leave with him. I owned the man my life and he was helping better people fight the real enemy,” he said. “That’s how I ended up joining your brother and the Targaryen Queen.”

“Why were the Golden Cloaks after you? Why did the Red Witch want to sacrifice you?” she insisted.

Gendry swallowed and sighted. “You know I am a bastard.” Arya nodded, not fully understanding why was it important. Her brother Jon was also a bastard and he was now the king. “I didn’t know who my father was, who he had been,” he started, “but Melissandre, the Red Priestess, she told me. My father was Robert Baratheon. I am his bastard son,” he confesses. She gave him a careful look, not knowing if he was messing with her or not. But she realised that it made sense.

Her father had been executed for treason, thanks in part to Littlefinger’s games, after he had been asking questions about Gendry, as Jon Arryn, Robert Baratheon’s other Hand had. Joffrey had ordered the murder of any possible threat to his usurped throne, thus the golden cloak persecuting him. However, she didn’t understand Melissandre’s intentions behind her motives to have him kill.

“Then why would she try to kill you? Did Stannis consider you a threat?” she asked not fully understanding. Gendry shook his head.

“No, I don’t think she cared for me at all. She only wanted my blood. She said that there was power in kings’ blood and she wanted to use me to end the War of the Five Kings,” he added.

Arya reflected on his words and how the woman’s witchcraft could have helped in the downfall of her brother Robb. She had seen far too many things to doubt any of the mystical things people told her about. They remained silent for a while, the fire burning the only noise heard.

“I am sorry for leaving you, Arya,” Gendry startled her. She looked him in the eyes, which shined with emotion. “I should have never tried to join the Brotherhood. You asked me to stay with you and I refused, and I can’t even put into words how much I regret my actions back then. Not because what happened to me, but because I left you alone.”

She had been angry with him, furious that he had rejected her proposal to become her family, but she discovered she was no longer upset. Had Gendry come with her he would have restrained her in her aim to become a faceless men, and she needed her training in Braavos to become who she was now.

“You do not need to apology, Gendry. I had to follow my path and you yours, otherwise we would have never discovered who we really are,” she affirmed him. She had intended it seriously, but something in her voice sounded like a tease.

“You’re right. There is no good in spending the time we have left discussing what could have been. Instead, perhaps, we could start over, if m’lady will see it fit,” he added smiling saucily.

She tried to hold her laugh and her serious demeanour, but eventually she couldn’t help herself anymore and she roared with laughter like she hadn’t laughed in a long time. Gendry looked at her confused, but soon he was infected by her mood and grinned.

“I am no lady, Gendry Waters. But, perhaps we can,” she said and left the forge, leaving an amused Gendry staring at her back.

She headed back to the Great Hall in hopes of finding his family gathered there. However, she heard voices coming from a room that was used as a meeting room located next to the hall and she walked towards it to enter it.

There she found Sansa, talking with the Imp and Lord Varys. They all three stopped their conversation and scrutinised her. She wasn’t perturbed by it and returned their gaze with indifference. She examined Lord Varys and wondered if Daenerys was aware of the role he had played in Robert’s Small Council. She remembered the conversation she had eavesdropped at the dungeons under the Red Keep. She decided to keep an eye on him.

“Don’t mind me, please. Go head, resume your conversation,” she said faking a smile and taking a seat next to her sister.

“Lady Sansa was informing us of the content of a raven addressed for Daenerys and Jon,” the Imp explained to her. “It brings bad news, I am afraid, Arya.”

“The Dorthaki are still stuck in the Vale, unable to pass through one of the crossings and we are running out of time,” Lord Varys’ devious voice continued.

“So what is the plan? Are we sending them a pathfinder?” she inquired excited. Perhaps Jon would allow her to go.

“Daenerys and Jon are discussing it right now,” Tyrion replied.

“Where are them then? Shouldn’t they be here with their advisors?” she asked irritated.

Tyrion and Sansa exchanged a look that Arya didn’t know how to interpret.

“King Jon’s gone to inform her of the news. They will join us soon enough,” Lord Varys intervened.

They heard some noises outside the door and suddenly, the man who was called Davos entered with a knight wearing a bear island sigil in his chest. They were joking about Lyanna Mormont’s character, but their faces darkened when they stared at their facials expressions, serious and moody.

“What is wrong,” the knight asked, displaying a familiar Northern accent.

“We received a raven from Brianne of Tarth, Ser Jorah,” Tyrion responded. “The Dothraki hadn’t been able to cross the Vale yet,” he informed him. The knight frowned at the news and Ser Davos turned his nose up making a noise of annoyance with his mouth.

“Well, that’s indeed bad news,” he agreed. “I imagine that the Queen and the King know already about it…” he said.

“Yes, we know, Ser Davos,” a soft, but firm voice confirmed behind him. Ser Davos made space for the Queen to enter. Daenerys Targaryen walked into the room followed by Jon and an exotic woman who Arya guessed was one of the Dragon Queen’s advisors.

She observed the silver-hair woman and her attire. She was wearing a fur coat, white as the snow that covered the North and had braided her hair in a simple, but strong braid. She was wearing matching globes too and she looked, as she was about to go outdoors, to the open skies.

Arya saw Tyrion looking at her unconvinced. “What do you have in mind, Your Grace?”

Daenerys turned her lilac eyes to him. “I am flying Drogon and Rhaegal to meet with the Dothraki in the Vale. I’ll try to clear up the roads so they can arrive in Winterfell,” she informed her Hand.

Tyrion inclined his head to one side. “Do you think that it is a good idea?” he questioned her.

“Indeed, my lord. We cannot wait for the snow to melt, we do not know it that would happen anytime soon, and we need the Dothraki here,” she assured. “Ser Jorah, I have already informed King Jon and Grey Worm, but until I return you and the King have my permission to command the Unsullied,” she said to the knight. "Lord Tyrion, you'll take any relevant decision on my behalf," she added looking at her Hand, who nodded. 

“As you wish, _khaleesi”_ the old knight asserted. She then looked at Sansa.

“I will ask you, Lady Sansa, to take good care of my people in my absence,” she asked her.

“Yes, your grace. It will be my honour,” her sister replied bowing her head. The Queen smiled and then turned to leave, although she stopped herself half-way after their eyes met.

“You must be Arya, aren’t you?” she asked, looking at Jor for a confirmation, who nodded.

“I am, Queen Daenerys. I’ve heard many great things about your deeds in Essos,” she complimented her. “I hope we could get to know each other after you return,” she dared to add.

“I’d very much like that,” she grinned and then completed her spun to exit the room.

Everybody followed her through the door and they moved towards the Godswood. She wasn’t sure why they were heading in that direction, but after leaving the Great Keep behind and entering the fence that delimited the Old Gods’ shrine she saw the dragons resting close to the woods, far from the entrance.

Arya could hear the sound of their steps breaking the thick layer of snow that had formed over the last blizzards. Their puffs of breath condensed in contact with the frosty air. The retinue kept talking all the way, but Arya didn’t participate, instead she observed the Queen’s movements and how she interacted with the people around her and especially with Jon. She sensed an invisible force flowing between them, like a string pulling them closer and coordinating their movements. They were talking politely, but the tension was still there. She wondered what kind of alliance they had agreed to and what kind of relationship they had developed during their months together so that a Targaryen and a Stark, a Dragon and a Wolf would get to work together.

They were now close to the Weirdwood and Jon hurried to check if Bran was in trance. However, he wasn’t and instead he evaded Jon and directed his view to Daenerys. Arya saw her stepping forward to introduce herself to Bran, but he interrupted her before she could open her mouth.

“Many said the red comet was an omen, that it was a sign that my brother Robb would win a great victory in the South. For others it was the Lannister Red, foreseeing the Lannisters ruling over the Seven Kingdoms; that it was the colour of blood, the mark of death. But stars don’t fall for men. The red comet meant one thing, Daenerys Targaryen: dragons.”

Everybody hushed when they heard his words, not knowing what to say or how to break the silence that had overtaken them. Daenerys looked at him, caught by Bran’s strange statement, as if she understood its meaning.

“ _Shierak qiya,”_ Arya heard her reply. She didn’t understand its meaning, it wasn’t Valyrian or any other language she knew. The Queen seemed agitated and Arya saw how Daenerys gave the old knight a side-glance seeking some reassurance. “The bleeding star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail,” she exclaimed her voice firm and determined, returning to focus her eyes in Bran.

Arya saw her brother studying Daenerys’ face and she saw him doubting for a moment before adding: “There is no flower so rare nor so precious like the winter rose with blue petals the colour of frost. The fairest flower that blooms in the gardens of Winterfell blossomed in a tower of Dorne, a fallen star bleeding at dawn,” he presaged. “The dragons now, do you?” he concluded.

Everybody remained quiet and Arya looked once more at the Queen that seemed puzzled. She was peering at Bran, trying to read between his words, and eventually Jon intervened in the uncomfortable situation.

“Bran,” he rested his hands in his brothers shoulders, “we’ll talk later, all right? The Queen is leaving now and I must attend some issues right away, but we’ll talk after that,” he said squeezing his arms.

“Where are you going, Mother of Dragons?” Bran asked the Queen. A dark shadow covered his brother’s eyes, or that was Arya’s impression.

“I need to fly to the Dothraki and help them reach Winterfell, Bran,” she explained quietly.

Bran nodded and for the first time in a long time, Arya believed his brother looked worried. However, he turned to face the Heart Tree once again and the rest of the retinue swivelled to observe Daenerys walking towards her dragons. Ser Jorah, Lord Tyrion and Jon followed her a while, receiving her last instructions over the armies and their plans, but eventually they halted a few metres before the dragon’s territory started.

Arya watched Daenerys regally walk towards her dragons, they both turning their heads in recognition of their mother and starting to stretch their limbs. She stopped to caress the green one shortly before heading for the black beast that lowered his back to allow her to climb him.

Arya was mesmerised by the image before her: the myths from her childhood stories embodied in flesh and bone, breathing fire and about to defy the skies’ winds.

Daenerys was almost sat when Jon rushed abruptly towards her, not caring about the dragons surrounding him or the people watching them. She then saw Daenerys turned on her spot and how Jon extended his hand to grab hers, an act she reciprocated to Arya’s surprise. She heard Jon murmur something, but couldn’t catch the words he had spoken. Daenerys smiled shyly and then they broke apart. Jon stepped back, leaving enough space for the dragons to set to fly and after a quick glance back, Daenerys pronounced a few words in High Valyrian and the dragons took off, soon losing themselves among the clouds.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Jon II

**JON II**

He observed Daenerys as she climbed on Drogon’s back, gracefully, as she had been born to do it, which in some way Jon believed she had. The image was beautiful and majestic, but it made him feel a sting of pain in the middle of his chest almost unbearable. He rushed towards her, not giving a damn about the people behind him watching them. He moved around the dragons without fear, knowing they would never hurt him on Daenerys’ presence and he reached Drogon’s side. Daenerys turned to look at him at the same time he extended his arm to grab her hand. She took it like holding for dear life.

“Be safe… Dany,” Jon whispered clasping her hand transferring all his love through his touch. The word ' _Dany_ ' had come out of his mouth all of a sudden, but she didn't seem to mind. Her eyes beamed with emotion when she squeezed his hand back before she turned to leave. 

Jon stepped back, the wind swaying his cloak as Daenerys and her dragons took off and they were lost to his sight. He heard the fidgeting of the people behind him and their slow breathings waiting for him to say something. But he had nothing to say or to explain. He had wanted to say farewell to her and he wouldn’t apology for it. Besides, the people who were present were part of their respective councils and he didn’t mind that they knew about Daenerys and him. Her council probably knew already and the more obvious their relationship was, the less he would have to voice it to his siblings.

“Sansa, Lord Tyrion,” he spoke then, turning to look at them, “I’d need you to come with me to my chambers. There is something I need to discuss with you,” he informed them. Sansa looked at him wondering what he wanted, but Tyrion nodded in understanding. “Arya, would you take Bran to his chambers and call for Sam? I’d meet with them after I have finished with Sansa and Lord Tyrion,” he said looking at his sister. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said staring at the rest of the present.

He began walking with Tyrion and Sansa towards his chambers where he made a servant summon Maester Wolkan. He took a seat behind his desk and then asked his guests to sit too.

“What is this, Jon?” Sansa asked him cautiously.

“I need you to serve as my witness,” he said extracting parchment and a quill from one of the drawers of the table and starting to write.

“Your witness for what?” she said raising her voice. Jon stopped writing and fixed his eyes on hers.

“Winter is here and the Great War is at our doors, I need to declare my last will,” he explained resuming his writing. Sansa was shocked.

“Is it necessary?” she whispered stirring in her chair.

“Yes, it is. I do not know if I am going to survive the war and I won’t leave the North opened for internal struggles to tear it apart,” he explained.

“And what are you declaring in your will?” she asked sarcastically.

“I will name you my heiress,” he told her and Sansa fell quiet. She stared at him impassibly. “In the unfortunate circumstance of my premature death you would follow me as Wardeness of the North,” he continued.

“Wardeness? I thought you have finally forgotten about that nonsense” she inquired wryly.

“Yes, Wardeness,” he decided to ignore her tone and kept writing. “As I informed you on my raven from Dragonstone, I pledged myself to Queen Daenerys and…”

“You did, not me,” she spat. “I didn’t bend the knee to a foreign invader, to none other than a Targaryen. Do you really think that I am blind? That we are blind and we do not know what’s going on?” she accused him. “You bent the knee to a pretty face and now you are using the pretence of the Great War to hide it,” she was almost shouting. “Littlefinger was right,” she finished bitterly.

Jon paled with rage. Sansa had overstepped her boundaries and he wasn’t going to tolerate her intransigent stubbornness and pride clouding her mind and threatening her survival. He glared at her and didn’t look away when he talked to Tyrion.

“Lord Tyrion, you must excuse us, but I need to have a word with my sister, in private,” he whispered, his husky voice suddenly darkened. Jon saw Tyrion’s eyes switching from Sansa to him, but eventually he stood up and walked towards the door.

“Tyrion,” Jon called him, “wait outside and if Maester Wolkan comes tell him to wait with you. I will be needing you two soon,” he commanded. The dwarf nodded and exited the door, closing it carefully behind him.

Sansa stood up clearly angry with him and began moving in circles around the room.

“I do not care about how big her army is, how terrifying her dragons, we did not fight to have our home back to give it away to a Southern ruler,” she yelled.

“The battle of the bastards wasn’t about obtaining secession from the Iron Throne. It was about retaking our home and ensuring that we band together to survive the winter!” he lost his temper. “And we need her. We cannot face the Night King without her forces.”

“So you bent the knee for her help? How selfless of Her Grace” she replied.

Jon sighted, tired of everybody’s stupidity and blindness.

“Do you remember Tyrion’s raven when she first summoned me to Dragonstone?” She nodded. “How many dragons did he mention on the message?”

“Three.”

“How many dragons did you see here today?”

“Two.”

“What do you think that happened to the third one?” he fixed his eyes in her. She shrugged and slowly moved to the chair to sit again. “You know that we went to King’s Landing in order to parley with Cersei to put their war at a truce and to convince her to join us. We needed to show her the real threat and Tyrion came up with a plan to make her see: we planned an expedition beyond the Wall to a catch a lonely wight to bring it to King’s Landing,” he narrated. “The plan wasn’t perfect and Daenerys didn’t like it. She could have ended the war long before, but she refused to use her full power to defeat Cersei because she didn’t want to kill innocent people,” he saw that Sansa was paying him attention. “So she agreed, through clenched teeth, and gave me everything I needed for the hunt, including allowing her most trusted advisor to come with me. And we did it, we went north of the Wall and we caught the wight. However, we came to be stuck in the middle of a frozen lake, surrounded by thousands of wights commanded by a group of White Walkers,” he continued standing up and walking toward the fireplace. “I had sent one of our men back to Eastwatch when we noticed the horde approaching, to make him send a raven to Daenerys in an attempt to beg her to come in our help,” Jon said staring at the fire. “I had no right to ask that of her after refusing to bend the knee, after defying her at her home in front of her council, and after she had given me everything I had asked so far, except from her armies. I was being selfish and I knew deep down that she shouldn’t come. She had declared herself against it and she owned me nothing,” he continued in a faint tone. Jon looked at Sansa, she seemed mesmerised by the story, engrossed with his account. “But she came. We were at the brink of succumbing to the dead when she appeared, riding her dragons, breathing fire upon our enemies. She landed her dragon to let us climb on it, risking herself to be hurt by the wights that were coming for us,” he could feel the admiration transpiring through his voice. Jon could remember the succession of events as if they were happing right now. “And then it all fell apart. The Night King showed up and threw a spear to Viserion, one of Daenerys’ dragons, piercing through the flesh of his neck and shooting him down from the sky. I saw him tumbled into the frozen lake, cracking the thin layer of ice of its surface and sinking to its depths. I remember Daenerys’ face of utter disbelief and pain. She came because of my stubbornness and she lost one of her children because of me,” he said with remorse. “Later on, resting on the ship that brought us back to Dragonstone, Daenerys came to visit me when I was on the mend, recovering from the injuries from the fight. She could have blamed me for her loss, she could have raged against my stupidity, and instead she pledged her armies to the cause. The foreign invader, the _Mad King’s daughter_ was vowing to defeat the Night King’s army expecting nothing in return,” he said turning back to sit behind his desk. “She was giving me everything I had asked from her, expecting nothing from me,” Jon explained. “She was putting on hold her quest for the Iron Throne, she was ensuring that we stood a chance against the Dead and she wasn’t demanding anything in exchange. So I gave her the one thing she had ever wanted: I pledged myself to her,” he stated solemnly. “I didn’t do it because she is a ‘ _pretty face’_ , I didn’t do it because of her claim to the Iron Throne. I didn’t even do it because she asked! I did it because she deserved it and she still does. She is the Queen Westeros needs. All of the Seven Kingdoms. What good is our independence if we cannot survive winter on our own?” He concluded.

The fire crackled breaking the silent that had risen between them. Jon looked at Sansa who at the time seemed to be reflecting on his words, weighting over the different options she had.

“I need to set the things right in case I do not survive the war, Sansa,” he spoke. “I need you to understand that we cannot make it without her, not during the war nor after it” he pleaded. “She wants to build a better world for everybody. She already started in Essos…”

“I do understand, Jon,” she finally conceded, interrupting him. “I am sorry for the harsh words I uttered, I should have never said that to you,” she extended her arm to grab his hand. “I respect your decision. I couldn’t see what lay behind it, but now I can,” she assured him. “I will ensure that shall you die, Gods forbid it, your last will will be respected. Though I do not know if I’d be able to stand my ground against these fool Northerners,” she joked.

“They will accept it if you do. You are Lady Stark of Winterfell, trueborn daughter of Ned Stark. They will comply with your wishes,” Jon assured her squeezing her hand. “We are not losing our home by remaining united, we are ensuring that we survive.”

“Thank you for explaining this to me you, Jon,” Sansa acknowledged his effort.

Jon looked at her affectingly and nodded in assent.

“Shall I call for Tyrion?” Sansa asked smiling.

“Yes, please,” he answered and resumed his writing. Sansa stood up and walked to the door to open it, unveiling a bored Tyrion.

“May I come back now?” he asked cautiously. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Lord Tyrion. Everything is in order. Once my brother finishes redacting it, we’d need to proceed to read it and sign it, wouldn’t we?” she questioned unsure about the procedure.

“Yes, then Maester Wolkan would need to keep a record of it in House Stark family’s records book and that would be it,” he granted.

Jon continued writing for a bit longer. When he finished, he read it once for himself before handing it to his sister and to Lord Tyrion, who got closer to his former sham wife to read it. They had barely started checking its content when they simultaneously stopped, looked at each other and broke out in laughter.

“What is this, Jon?” Sansa chuckled pointing at the first sentence written in the parchment. Jon blushed obviously knowing what she was referring to. He had thought about the formula to announce his persona, since he had no noble origins and couldn’t use his mother and father’s names as his own. He had then came up with an idea copied from the announcements Missandei used to introduce Daenerys and so he had set for a similar one.

“‘ _I, Jon Snow, the White Wolf, former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and the King in the North, hereby declare…’_ ” Lord Tyrion read out loud. “I believe you have been spending too much time with a certain silver queen,” he chuckled reading the will quietly.

Jon chortled and waited patiently until both his sister and Tyrion had finished reading it to pass them the quill to sign at the bottom of the document and then he signed it himself. Right away they heard a knock on the door. Jon granted entrance and Maester Wolkan came in. Jon instructed him on what to do next. Before the maester left, Jon told him to have it watched over and guarded from indiscreet eyes.

Jon stood up and Tyrion and Sansa imitated him. Tyrion extended his hand to shake it with Jon.

“Thank you, your grace. Hopefully we will never need to use it,” he said.

“We won’t,” Sansa assured.

Jon smiled timidly. “It would be better to keep this to ourselves for the moment, Sansa,” he urged her. “Do not comment this to anybody.” He doubted for a moment before adding, “not even to Daenerys.”

Sansa looked at him strangely, but nodded.

“Now, if you excuse me I need to go to talk to Bran and Sam,” he said heading for the door.

“I’ll come with you, Jon,” Sansa said and together they left the room. They moved along the corridors towards Bran’s chambers. Jon took advantage of that time to ask her about the administration of Winterfell during his absence: about the food supplies and the weapons. Sansa informed him about their progresses and Jon assented pleased by his sister’s efficiency. He wanted to ask her about Little Finger, but he wasn’t sure about the approach he must follow, partially because he knew that, in spite everything that that treacherous snake had put her through, Sansa somehow had learnt to trust him and, to some extend, she had cared for him.

“Sansa, what happened to Littlefinger?” he finally plucked up his courage to ask.

“I had him executed. Arya passed the sentence,” she replied coldly. Jon was shocked. Arya had told him about her new abilities, though it was still hard for him to accept that his little sister was a cold assassin.

“Why? What did he do? Did he dare to…?” he raged, imagining the worst.

“No, he did not touch me, if that’s what you fear. But he conspired against you and tried to set Arya and me at odds. He even dared to accuse Arya of planning my murdering,” she replied restraining her anger. “Bran intervened, however. You see, he’s got these strange visions where he can _see_ ,” she remarked the last word, “the things that had happened or are happening right now,” she explained. “Bran told me about all of Littlefinger’s schedules and how he was the one who betrayed father in King’s Landing, which eventually lead to his death. He was also part of the plan to execute the Red Wedding, where Robb and mother died. ¡He participated in the plan to have the woman he claimed to love killed! After hearing that the decision was taken. I won’t say it was easy to carry it thought, but it had to be done,” she finished her account.

They had reached Bran’s chambers door and they pushed it to enter the room. Sam and Arya were chatting quietly on a corner while Bran simply stared at the fire, immersed in his own thoughts. Jon cleared his throat to announce their presence and they all turned their heads to welcome them.

“Jon,” Sam spoke nervously. “Please, take a seat.” Jon moved towards one of the armchairs that were empty besides Arya and Sansa imitated him.

“What is that you wanted to tell me, Sam? Bran?” Jon said looking at Bran.

Sam stood up and went to turn Bran’s wheelchair to allow him to face Jon, then he moved to one of the oak bureaus found in the room and extracted from the drawer an old book. He then sat on his chair again, waiting for Bran to speak.

“You need to know the truth, the truth about yourself,” Bran mystically said.

“What truth?” Jon asked confused.

“The truth about your mother and the truth about your father,” Bran replied.

Jon stirred in his seat uncomfortably. “Father? Lord Eddard?” Jon questioned. Bran shook his head.

“No, the truth about your real father. You are not the son of Ned Stark,” he dropped coldly.

“What are you talking about, Bran?” Arya intervened angrily.

“Jon’s father is not Ned Stark. He is the son of aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen,” he stated.

Bran’s statement fell upon Jon like cold water, paralysing him briefly. ‘ _The son of aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen_ ’ reverberated in his head. He looked at Bran, expecting him suddenly to break out in laughter and tell him that it was just a joke, but his brother’s eyes were shining with determination and did not hide any trail of deceit. He tittered and his eyes turned to Sam, but his friend had a serious demeanour that left no room for mistakes.

“Rhaegar never raped Lyanna. She willingly left with him and they married in secret,” Sam intervened looking at Jon. “Look,” he said handing him the book, fingers shaking. “They were wedded by the High Septon in Dorne after he annulled his marriage to Elia Martell.”

Jon stared at the book hanging in the air without seeing it and Sam pushed it so he could grab it. Jon however didn’t take the book, astounded by the information he was being given. Sansa grabbed it in his stead.

“You have never been a bastard,” Bran persisted, unaware of Jon’s internal turmoil and Jon started to suspect that even if he did we would not care. “You are the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targayen and Lyanna Stark,” he finished.

“Does it mean that he would have rights over the Iron Throne?” Sansa’s voice reached Jon’s ears. “That Jon could claim it?”

“Jon isn’t his true name,” Bran told her. “His name is Aegon Targaryen.”

Jon had remained silent after Bran’s revelation as the burden in his chest grew bigger and bigger, restraining his ability to breath; but Bran’s last words woke him from his stupor. He stood up unable to continue any longer in their company. He walked towards the doors, ignoring Arya’s pleadings, which called him desperately and asked him to stay. He rushed through the door and left the room, his steps taking him nowhere. He felt dizzy, a growing taste of bile filling his mouth, his brain incapable of thinking straight. He had a lump on his throat that was suffocating him, so he exited one of the gates that opened to the courtyard. It was getting dark and the fragile snowflakes had begun falling again. He felt its touch in his cheeks, the ice burning his skin. The winds of winter embraced him, mildly cooling down his inner conflict and allowing him to inhale the clean air.

However, he could not remove Bran’s words from his head. ‘ _Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen_ ’ he thought. ‘How is this possible?’ he wondered. Those were names that had always had a meaning for him, though a vague one. They had been the ones that had set into motion Robert’s Rebellion: after Lyanna’s kidnapping, his grandfather and uncle had marched south, to the capital, in order to request the Mad King to punish Rhaegar’s actions. Instead, the king had cruelly executed them and so the rebellion had started. It turned out that everything was a lie. Lyanna had left with Rhaegar, she had not been taken by the force. Rickard and Brandon Stark had died for the irresponsibility of two selfish people who hadn’t thought about the Realm, but in themselves. According to Bran’s vision, Jon was the product of it. He had grown up believing that bastard children were born from lust and lies _,_ influenced by the popular belief and Lady Catelyn’s despise for him; and still, this revelation proved that even trueborn children could be the result of the same sins.

He had learnt to live with his bastardy; he was no longer ashamed of something he was not responsible for. He had worn it like armour as Tyrion had once suggested so none could ever use it against him. Jon had risen from the ground and had become the kind of man Lord Eddark had once been. He had acted always on justice and honour, at least he had tried, as his father had, and he had built an entire identity that revolved around those values. But that was also a lie. The honourable Ned had lied too: he had lied to his family, lied to his people, and lied to the Realm. ‘What for?’ Jon asked himself. ‘Why would father betray his duty?’ he wondered and another voice, an older one, scraped by time, reverberated in his head: ‘ _If the day should ever come when your lord father was forced to choose between honour on the one hand and those he loves on the other, what would he do?_ ’ Jon reflected on the meaning of the words Maester Aemon had told him long ago.

He had once thought that his father would always choose honour, duty, what he thought at that time that was _‘right’,_ over anything. However, he now knew he had been wrong. He would choose love. He had chosen his love for his sister above loyalty to his friend, over his honour as a man and husband. He chose to keep Lyanna’s secret to protect her memory and to protect him, Jon. He had grown up learning of Robert Baratheon’s revenge against the Targaryens, the slaughtering of the children in their beds, of his now siblings, if what Bran said was true. Daenerys had told him about the restless persecution she had endured her whole life, and he knew that had his father, Ned, told the truth he would have suffered the same fate.

Jon stared at his shanking hands and they felt foreign, like they were someone else’s hands. He breathed in fits and starts.

Jon felt deceived, furious that his whole life was built on lies. Ned Stark had raised him as his bastard son, letting Lady Catelyn abuse him for his father’s sins, depriving him from knowing the truth of who he really was, but allowing him to believe that despite the mistreatment and in spite of his bastard name, Snow, he could somehow be a Stark. He had pushed his own statement ‘ _I’m no Stark’_ in an attempt to let people know that his bastardy was not a weapon they could use against him, but deep down he had always known that he belonged to House Stark, even if he would always remain a Snow. That was also a lie; he would never be a Stark. He had never been a Stark. ‘Ned Stark wasn’t my father’ he thought bitterly. Even so, there was an inevitable truth among all of it: Ned Stark had taken care of him; he had protected him. He had faced shame, he had dishonoured himself to keep him safe, and he had allowed the gossips to tarnish his name. Jon wondered why. ‘ _Love is the death of duty,’_ Maester Aemon’s voice reminded him again.

‘Love is the death of duty, indeed’ Jon raged internally. Rhaegar and Lyanna had loved each other according to Sam’s tale, and thousands had died for it. They had both forgotten about their duty and many had paid for their mistakes. Even so, Eddard’s love for his sister had motivated his actions, which had kept Jon from harm. Ned hadn’t cared that his own name could be stained if that meant Jon could be safe. Lord Stark’s love for his sister, Lyanna, had been the death of his duty too. ‘Lyanna’ he thought moved suddenly by the memory of the mother he never knew as he remembered the sweet words the Northerner uttered about the late she-wolf.

He had always wanted to know who his mother was, if she was beautiful, if they looked alike. He had also wanted to now if she had slightly cared about him, a question to which Ned had always refused to answer, sadness strangely taking over his eyes every time of the few Jon had mentioned her. Now Jon knew why. _‘The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother’_ Ned had said to him the last time they had ever spoken. After that he had died and Jon had thought back then that he would never find out the truth. It was strange that after all this time it was his brother, Bran, who disclosed it for him. Bran, the last trueborn son of Eddard Stark. He had always longed for the true recognition of a rightful son, but now that Sam had corroborated that he was indeed the trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, it seemed insignificant. He had always wanted to be acknowledged as one of the trueborn children of Lord Eddard Stark, the ‘ _let them say that Eddard Stark fathered four sons, not three’_ thought driving him through out life. He had wanted to be a Stark because it would be the ultimate proof that he was Ned’s Stark son. ‘Who was this Rhaegar Targaryen?’ he thought spitefully. He was nothing more than a shadow, a ghost hunting him down, the last Targaryen Crown Prince, Daenerys’ brother. ‘Daenerys’ he realised abruptly. He shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the implications of Bran’s revelation.

He felt shattered, his world tumbling around him, and he did not know where to go or whom talk to.

Suddenly, one of the sentinels shouted, bringing him back to reality. The watchman was informing that a group of riders was approaching. Jon walked towards the Northern gate to welcome the new arrivals; glad that he could distract his mind from the nightmare he was living.

The gates opened to receive the riders. They were wearing hoods, but he could distinguish the kissed-by-fire hair of Tormund under one of them. Following him he could see Beric Dondarrion and gathered behind them he saw a few bannermen from House Umber. He looked at them and peered at Ned Umber, who was shivering on top of his horse.

Tormund dismounted from his mount and addressed one of the guards, but he then discovered Jon in one of the corners of the courtyard and walked to him.

“Jon! I wasn’t expecting you here!” he told him seriously.

“What are you doing here, Tormund?” Jon rushed to his friend. “What is this?” he said pointing at the Umber men, who were starting to dismount too.

“The Wall has fallen, Jon,” he exclaimed. “He tore it down,” he whispered trembling.

Jon looked at the wildling, confusion all over his face.

“What?! How?!” He begged to know.

“He’s got…” Tormund began explaining, but quieted as Ned Umber approached him.

“Your Grace,” he cried. “They are all dead,” the boy informed him sobbing. Jon studied his face and he saw the boy looked exhausted, black rings under his eyes. They heard a neigh and Jon averted his eyes to look at the source of the sound, only to found one of the horses collapsing to the grown.

“We’ve been riding nonstop for five days,” Tormund told him.

Jon put a hand over Ned’s shoulder and called for some servants.

“Help these men some food and warm clothes. Take them to the guest chambers and assure they rest without disturbance,” he commanded and the Umber men left.

“What happened?” he then said looking at Tormund and Beric, who was waking towards him.

“We were at the Wall, watching like damned crows,” Tormund resumed. “The horns blew three times in a row and we saw how the fuckers came from the forest, the blizzard with them. And then…” he stopped, “Out of nowhere a shadow hit us, breathing blue fire.”

“A wight dragon, Jon. The girl’s, Daenerys’ dragon,” Beric Dondarrion added, and his voice, which normally sounded clear and certain, now was sown with fear. “It flew over the Wall, the Night King riding him and he spat his fire against the ice.”

“We warned the wildlings guarding it to run, but it was too late,” Tormund’s raw voice added, “the Wall collapsed before our eyes.”

“We were left stuck on top of it, our own way out was to walk to Castle Black through it. It took us some days to reach it, but now the Night’s Watch is warned. They gave us two horses to run to go raise the alarm to the people in Last Hearth. We arrived there in no less than three days. We waited for the Night’s Watchmen to join us as we had agreed, but we had to flee Last Hearth before Edd and his men could arrive,” Beric added.

“What happened in Last Hearth?” Jon asked, urging them to move. They entered the keep and Jon guided them through its corridors towards the Great Hall.

“When we arrived in the fortress, the boy, Ned Under was gathering his men and was almost ready to come here. He said he had received a raven summoning them to Winterfell immediately, but that they were not ready yet. We warned the fools to flee right away, but they wouldn’t listen to a wildling and a recreant. They didn’t believe the word of the Wall falling,” Beric said.

“The Army of the Death killed them all. We could barely escape with the boy and a few men of his personal guard,” Tormund whispered. “It was worst than Hardhome, Jon. The children, the woman, the old people couldn’t fight back and they all died,” Tormund added. “We could heard their screams on the distance while we rode away.”

He then heard footsteps approaching from the opposite direction of the corridor. For his unpleasant surprise it was Sam carrying Bran on his wheelchair.

“Jon,” Sam called him. “We need to talk…”

“Bran!” Jon shouted and run until he stood up in front of his brother’s emotionless face, “Did you see it? Did you see the falling of the wall?” Jon spat out in a whisper, barely restraining his rage.

“Yes, I see everything now” he replied, his voice lacking any trail of human features. “They were there,” he said looking at Beric and Tormund, “as so they were in Last Hearth when they came for it,” he added unperturbed.

Jon glared at him and for a moment he thought he would hit him, but he deflected his blow, which ended up in the wooden frame of a close door. Sam looked at Jon horrified for his unusual display of violence.

“Did you know this too?” Jon yelled at him. “Did you hide this from me?”

Sam paled at the accusation and shook his head. “I did not know this, Jon. I would have told you right away. Innocent lives were at stake,” Sam pleaded.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Bran spoke to Jon. “Any raven you had sent would have been too late and they,” he said pointing with his head towards Beric and Tormund “were already on his way here. Had I told you this morning, it would have changed nothing.”

“You could have send a raven to warn them,” Jon whispered hardly.

“I did. Beric just told you. I told them to ride immediately to Winterfell. They decided not to follow my advice,” he simply replied.

From behind Sam, he caught his sister’s Sansa silhouette, walking close to Arya. They were walking with determination and they approached them, as they would usually do. Arya’s gaze fixed in his, but he didn’t return the look, unable to do it after the revelation’s weight hanged over his heart.

“Tormund!” Sansa greeted him. “I was not expecting you here…” she said.

“I know, Sansa.”

“We need to talk. Now,” Jon turned to look at his sister Sansa. “Daenerys’ council needs to be present too.”

She nodded and together they moved along the corridors until they reached the meeting room annexed to the Great Hall. There they found Lord Varys and Tyrion peacefully talking, while Ser Jorah showed Missandei one map of the Northern territories on a table at the back of the room.

Jon opened the door unceremoniously and the people inside the room spun at his curtness.

“Lord Beric Dondarrion,” Tyrion said. “I must admit that I wasn’t expecting you here!” he said standing up to shake Beric’s hand. “What brings you down south? I believe you were stationed in Eastwatch-by-the-sea.” He looked at Jorah to confirm his words.

The old knight stopped doing what he was doing and moved forward. Jon could see his confused gaze and how he turned for him, looking for some answers.

Arya closed the door behind her, after everybody had entered the room.

“We’re fucked,” Jon announced. He observed the occupants of the room semblances darkened after his declaration. “The Wall has fallen. Beric and Tormund saw it themselves. My brother Bran… he saw it too,” he added.

“How? How could it happen?” Ser Jorah asked cautiously.

Jon felt all the gazes falling upon him. He feared looking at Tyrion’s eyes because he knew he would blame him for this. He blamed himself for this. He should have never asked for Daenerys’ assistance. It was his fault that the dragon had died and thus the falling of the wall. He was shuddering and he feared that his heavy breath would make him cry. He wanted to cry; he wanted to run away, to hide. He had only experienced this feeling of dread, of damnation, once before, standing on the boat retreating from the massacre that had been Hardhome. He had watched helplessly how the Night King and his army had slaughtered the wildlings, only to rise them later as part of his army. He had felt his insignificancy at that moment and a feeling of utter fear had overcome him. That feeling was taken over him now again.

He plucked up the courage to look at Ser Jorah to answer him. “He’s got Viserion”

Missandei let a small gasp out and covered her mouth with both hands. Everybody contained their breaths.

“Who is Viserion?” Arya asked confused.

“One of the Queen’s dragons, Arya. He died north of the Wall,” Lord Tyrion replied, all trail of humour abandoning his face. Jon had never seen the dwarf of Castely Rock that serious.

A knock of the door startled them and Ser Davos came in. “I just saw Ned Umber being accommodated in one of the guest rooms,” he said lightly. He then saw all the people reunited there and looked at Jon. “What’s happening here?”

“You’re just in time, Ser Davos,” Jon said heading to his advisor. “Call upon all the bannermen to the Great Hall. Now,” he said before exiting the room. “The Wall has fallen.”

 


	7. Daenerys III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a strange chapter.

**DAENERYS III**

 

The horde rode galloping among the melting snow mounting at both sides of the Kingsroad. The sound of the hoofs sloshing in the paddles that formed after her dragons’ flame thawed the ice blocking their path accompanied her through all day. She could have ridden Drogon, supervising their task overhead, however, she had preferred the company of her bloodriders, who had spent too much time away from her and needed her fire to lift their warriors’ spirits.

She had met with them two days ago, after some hours flying after leaving Winterfell. She had arrived at the break of dawn, while the horde woke from another freezing night. They had cheered at her sight, raising their _arakhs_ to the skies to welcome their _khaleesi_ , who had flown in circles before finally descending and landing in what seemed to be the frontline of the horde.

Qhono and other of her bloodriders had welcomed her and had informed her of the problems the _khalasar_ had faced riding in the snow, but the report had been given without any sign of complaint. She had then asked about the westerosi people’s reaction to the horde, to what Qhono had explained that they had followed her commands of not diverting from the road, leaving the villages alone to prevent the wild Dothraki to be tempted to fall into old habits. She had been pleased by their obedience and then she had distinguished the approaching forms of Brianne of Tarth, followed by her squire, Podrick, if she recalled properly, and the man people called ‘the Hound’. Daenerys had met the man at the wight hunt, when she had landed her dragon to let them climb on him, saving them in the effort. She had later been able to exchange a few words at the Wall, when she had desperately tried to hold onto hope waiting for Jon to return, and on the ship back to Dragonstone. He had remained quieted for most of the journey, spending his time below deck supervising the captured wight, and had only spoken to her when she had directly addressed him. The Hound had never thanked her for saving him beyond the Wall, but Daenerys had seen the gratitude shining in his eyes every time they had spoken and she had decided she wasn’t going to be the one to push him on the matter. Especially, because she had also seen the fear showing in his eyes at the sight of her dragons and their fire. Daenerys had asked Tyrion about the story behind the hefty man and her Hand had told her his childhood trauma and hatred for his brother, the Mountain. She had then started to suspect that Sandor Clegane would never rest in peace until he put his affairs with his brother in order, which she suspected would inevitably end with the death of one of them.

Brianne had volunteered to travel with the Dothraki, which Daenerys had agreed to be fit, since she was a warrior her people would be able to respect. However, she had been surprised when the Hound had offered too. She had been told at first that they despised each other and, if the rumours were true, that they had even duelled to death. Even so, Daenerys couldn’t tell if that was true as apparently both of them were alive and any other sign of their enmity seemed long gone. They had been treating each other with respect for most of the journey, as Qhono informed Daenerys when she asked him about their behaviour, and at that moment they had been talking cordially.

Brianne had greeted her and immediately apologised for any inconvenience their ravens might have caused them, but Daenerys had downplayed it by stating that a Queen’s place was with her people.

 

* * *

 

She had arrived at the lands known as the Neck, in the last spurs of the mountains ranges of the Vale of Arryn. They hadn’t gone into the Vale, but they had come to be stuck in one of the last crossings of its surrounding areas, that in normal circumstances would have been very easy to pass by without trouble. She had asked then how long would it take them to arrive to Winterfell and the Hound had replied that if they rode at the same pace they had been ridding before the snowstorm, they would be able to reach it in less than a week.

Daenerys sighted in her saddle bringing herself back to reality.

She had to admit that she had been tempted to fly back to Winterfell clearing the roads beforehand for the horde to ride by themselves, but she was glad that she had discarded that idea immediately. She had realised the moment she had touched the ground that she was needed there, and not only because her dragons’ flames were they only way they could clear the barricaded snow from the roads, but for the Dothraki, who were enduring icy temperatures in a foreign land and needed more than ever their _khaleesi_ to breath new hope into their task at hands. And thus the days passed by. She woke up early in the morning; feeling weak and restless and she blamed it to the wind and the cold that embraced her at night. She had expected to share Jon’s bed in Winterfell and make up for their nights alone on their way to his home, but that could not be either. She had had to fly to help her people and she was once alone in her tent after the fall of dusk. They spent most of the day riding, only stopping a few times to eat and to briefly rest, and they would soon resume their race. She enjoyed the company of her bloodriders, but after the third day she was already bored of their always-the-same conversation. Accustomed to Missandei’s lively chitchat she had started to miss another woman’s company. She had tried to talk to Brianne, but she had turned out to be a woman of scarce words and she was sure the Hound wouldn’t help much either. Podrick had tried to follow her attempts of dialogue, but he soon flushed unable to keep looking at her. Daenerys found it frustrating. Thus, when night came eventually she was grateful that she could retire to her tent where she could fall asleep and dream again of a garden full of winter roses. She didn’t know why the dream repeated so often, but she didn’t mind as every time she woke up from it she was filled with a strange sensation that reminded her of Jon.

The third night, however, it was different. She was once again in the garden, surrounded by the sweet scent of the blue flowers when a painful screech broke the silence. She looked up to see a falling star crossing the sky and leaving behind it a trail of blood that poured into the ground like dew drops. Daenerys took one of the roses with one of her hands and observed it, examining the tiny blood drops that slid on its petals. The smell of blood and roses mixed and reached her nostrils, evoking something familiar she couldn’t place. She decided then to walk toward the fallen start, but found herself in river ford, where the water reached up to her ankles. She looked once again at the flower and discovered that the small blood drops were falling in the water with a sonorous splash. She bent down, her knees almost touching the water and plunged her hand trying to catch the drops that were sinking in the river. To her surprise where once there had been blood drops now she was extracting rubies the size of peas. She stood up and observed how the red gems were scattered all over the bottom of the river. She twirled around just on time to catch the shadow that was looming over her, but before she could catch a glimpse of the figure, she was abruptly woken up by the screams coming from outside her hut.

She felt a bit confused for a while, still remembering the dream, but eventually she realised where she was and rushed to the entrance of the tent. Qhono was already waiting outside her hut, ready to inform her about the commotion that had taken over their camp. He told her that an intruder had been caught trying to pass them over on the depths of night.

She headed towards the noise wondering why could that person be so important to get an entire horde out of their beds, but soon she understood why, as she heard Brianne of Tarth yelling. She saw a group of Dothraki shouting at the woman and Daenerys had to run towards the mob gathered there, worried that the Dothraki and the Westerosi knight would come to blows. Brianne was standing facing the _kos_ and from behind her Daenerys caught a glimpse of the figure the woman knight had been trying to protect. She stared at the man, and then looked down at the globed hand that hid the golden prosthetic that know took up the space of his missing limb. She was left speechless.

“Jaime Lannister,” she gasped.

All the stares turned to her, every person present quietened suddenly. She looked at him not understanding why he had tried to surpass them at night, while he could have joined them and, more particularly, why he was travelling alone. She knew that they were not the best of friends, but they were supposed to be allies now, so she didn’t understand why he was looking at her with that horrible guilty face. She waited a bit longer for someone to explained it to her and then it clicked in her mind: he had come alone because nobody else was coming. They had betrayed them. The treacherous Lannisters had deceived them; the truce was a farce, the troops reinforcements were a lie; her dragon had died for nothing. She felt the anger boiling inside of her, clouding her mind and threatening to spill over every pore of her body. She wanted to fly her dragons to the Red Keep and burn it to the ground, scorching Cersei Lannister and every of her minions until they disintegrated from existence. Instead, she restrained her impulses, which she had to admit that had scared her, and ordered her bloodriders to take Ser Jaime to her hut. Brianne of Tarth tried to intercede in his favour, but Daenerys didn’t want to hear any of her lame pleads. She walked back to her tent, slowly but at a firm pace and once she entered it she ordered her bloodriders to exit it.

Qhono tried to stay with her, but a single look from his _khaleesi_ was enough to make him leave. She made crystal clear she was not afraid to be alone with the kingslayer.

“What is this?” she finally asked. “Why are you here? Why are you alone?”

Daenerys looked harshly at him, her voice spitting venom. Jaime Lannister was standing in the centre of the tent, looking at her with what Daenerys thought to be almost shame.

“I made a vow…” he started. “I promised to ride north to help you in the war to come,” he added more firmly than his first statement had sounded.

“You promised a truce, you promised to send the Lannister’ forces. Where are they? Where is your army?” she inquired restlessly.

“I don’t know. I came here alone…”

“You came here alone?!” Daenerys couldn’t believe her ears. “Did you venture all this way here to tell us amiably that you have decided to betray us?”

Jaime looked troubled as if he hadn’t given a second thought to his actions and how they appeared in other people’s eyes.

“Yes and no. I came here because I intend to help you defeat the White Walkers and their wights,” he replied.

“I don’t believe you,” Daenerys interrupted him. “Why would you betray your Queen, your House, your lover?”

Daenerys could see how Jaime was forming the answer in his mind and he struggled to put it into words.

“It isn’t about noble houses, it is about the living and the dead,” he finally said with resolve.

Daenerys reflected on his words for a while and then moved to her paillasse, where she   removed the blankets and extracted a dagger. She could sense Jaime’s eyes stuck in her back and when she finally turned to face him she could see the surprise shining in his eyes. Jaime stepped back as Daenerys walked in his direction holding the dagger and pointing at him with it.

“Take it,” she ordered, blindsiding him. “Take it and end it all. You can finish the war, you can finish me and my House off, as you tried to do in the battlefield, as you started when you killed my father,” she told him, daring him. “You would never be able to leave the camp alive, but you would have ended the war and you would ensure your sister’s reign,” she said handing him the dagger by the pome.

Jaime stared at Daenerys and then at the dagger. He knew it was a test. She could feel his pulse tensing and his hesitancy. Jaime looked up once again and their eyes locked, the green of his iris studying her lilac eyes and he then took the dagger. Daenerys breathed heavily for a moment, but to her surprise Jaime moved his good hand to rest the dagger in one of the improvised tables. The message was clear and so he didn’t add anything. Daenerys moved to the table to help them something to drink, which Jaime accepted. She handed him the drink and then she sat in one of the chairs placed inside the hut, indicating Jaime with her head to follow her steps.

“So, now what?” she finally broke the silence. “What can we expect of your sister?”

Jaime swallowed and Daenerys feared his answer.

“She has no intention to respect the truce nor to send her armies to the North,” he replied. Daenerys closed her eyes, cursing inwardly their naivety and she felt once again the fire rising from her guts. She pushed it aside.

“Well, that is unfortunate,” she added trying to sound cold, but the truth was that she was worried. She had left the South expecting it to be safe while she was fighting the Dead, but now she feared the destiny of those who had already pledged allegiance to her.

“That’s not all,” Jaime startled her. “Euron Greyjoy lied. He had no intention to hide in his island. Cersei and he plotted against everybody and he’s gone to ferry the Golden Company to Westeros to fight you,” he explained.

“The Golden Company?” she asked. “The mercenaries?”

Jaime nodded. Daenerys felt the world tumbling down. They couldn’t face a two fronts war. They couldn’t face the Army of the Dead and an attack from the South, they didn’t have the resources to do so, and she couldn’t march back to the South leaving the North exposed. She remembered Tyrion’s words. ‘We are fucked, indeed,’ she thought to herself.

“How many men fight in the Golden Company?”

“If Cersei’s figures are accurate, around 20.000 men,” he replied. “If we add them to House Lannister current numbers, she counts with around 40.000 men in total,” he added.

Daenerys nodded, thanking him for his information. Her army alone, not counting the northerner forces, still doubled Cersei’s one. She could easily defeat her. However, she didn’t know how many of her brave soldiers would fall against the Dead and she didn’t like the possibility of the Lannister Queen expanding her influence again in the South. She sighted with resignation, as there was nothing she could do.

“I believe they would not dare to venture this far north,” Jaime claimed. “Winter has already arrived in the capital and the temperatures here are even colder than down there. I think that we are safe for now,” he added.

“We?” Daenerys asked surprised. “Are we a “we” yet, Jaime Lannister?” she asked wryly.

“I meant it when I said that I intend to fight beside you when the Dead come,” he replied.

“And what happens after? What happens when we defeat the White Walkers? If we defeat the White Walkers,” she enquired.

Jaime remained silent, weighting over the possible answers to that question. Daenerys looked at him deciding what to do of his words and of him. She was exhausted and not only physically.

“It is late, Ser Jaime,” she said standing up and walking towards the entrance. “I’d like to rest,” she continued, opening the clothing to let him out. “You’re welcome to remain with us, if that’s what you really want.”

Jaime moved to the entrance and when he was almost about to exit the hut, Daenerys spoke again. “Bear this in mind, Ser Jaime. Any slight sign of betrayal and you would be executed. You do know what is the fate of those who defy me,” she threated him. Jaime looked once more at her eyes and nodded. “I’d inform my bloodriders that I mean you no harm, but you’ll need to have a guard with you at every moment. Lady Brianne will do,” she added finally dismissing him.

He left the hut and Daenerys proceeded to close the clothing. However, just before she could do it, Jaime turned once more to look at her and added: “You’ve taken after your mother,” and then he was gone.

After their conversation, Daenerys couldn’t sleep. She was nervous and anxious and for the first time since Viserion had perished she felt her faith starting to shatter.

The morning had surprised her brooding in her bed. She couldn’t let her spirit decay or else they all would lose hope. So when she finally emerged from her tent she did it walking once again with determination and soon they resumed their journey as the days before.

Jaime Lannister’s appearance came out to be a pleasant surprise for he had turned out to be a nice conversant. During the day that followed his arrival he had remained quiet for most of the riding, but he had given them his opinion and his knowledge of the lands whenever they had asked him. Daenerys hated to admit that he knew the country very well, much better than her. The Hound limited himself to add comments from time to time, always with his raw style of speech, which in some way Daenerys found refreshing. Sandor Clegale didn’t care about formalities and though it had annoyed her at the beginning, now she was starting to appreciate it. He only spoke the truth, no ornaments; the opposite of what Lord Varys or even Tyrion usually did.

However, on the second day after their reunion Jaime became suddenly more talkative, initiating himself the conversation as if trying to make his situation less uncomfortable. They were crossing a swamp area where the Green Fork was supposed to be born when Daenerys asked Lady Brianne if she knew about the inhabitants of that wetland. To her surprise, Jaime replied in her stead.

“These lands belong to House Reed, Your Grace,” he said. “Its castle is called Greywater Watch and it moves around the swamps, making it impossible to be found.”

She spun her head to look at the man who was now riding alongside her. The sun was filtering through the grey clouds and its rays reflected on what Daenerys believed to have been a much fairer shade of blond hair. She stared at the man, keeping a firm grip of the bridle like she had never seen the Dothraki do, his composure giving away his knightly habits.

“Ironborn, Andals, Freys… they have all tried to conquer it and all have failed in the attempt,” he said. Ser Jaime Lannister then looked up and their gazes collided. Daenerys held his gaze and eventually it was the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard who averted his eyes after nodding almost imperceptibly.

“Do we have to worry for any unexpected ambush?” she threw out.

“I do not think so, Your Grace,” Brianne replied, riding by Jaime Lannister’s right side. “House Reed is a vassal house holding fealty to House Stark.”

Daenerys smiled at her in gratitude for her answer. “How long will it take untill we arrive in Winterfell?”

“It depends on the weather, but I believe that we’ll probably be able to reach Mote Cailin by nightfall, Your Grace. It is an abandoned fortress, but will serve us as shelter for tonight,” she added looking at the sky. “I think it will start snowing again.”

A shadow crossed the sky covering momentarily the timid sun and leaving them in the shade. They all looked up to catch a glimpse of the dragons flying overhead with their wings flipping softly in the wind and producing their own gusts of air. They had been roaming freely since they had entered the swamps, as the water in the bogs didn’t allow the snow to pile up and, therefore, they didn’t need their flames to thaw it.

“I never thought I would see one of them,” Jaime said. “I thought they were extinct.”

“They were,” she replied. “I brought them back to life,” she stated proudly.

“I am glad this time I’m not fighting against them,” he ventured to joke.

Daenerys turned her head to look at him coldly. “I bet you are. Last time you faced them in battle, you almost got scorched by Drogon’s fire, after attempting to kill me,” she replied. She hadn’t meant it as a reproach, but Brianne stirred in her chair uncomfortably and she didn’t know why, but she had caught herself wanting to pick up a fight with Jaime Lannister. If she was honest with herself, she did know why. The first night they had talked he had left their conversation telling her she reminded him of her mother. She had been furious. ‘How did he dare to speak about my mother?!’ she had thought. However, the truth was that the real reason behind her anger was that she was mad at him because he, Jaime Lannister, an oathbreaker, had got to meet her mother, her family, when she hadn’t. So know when an opportunity presented to her allowing her to deliver her frustration, she held onto it.

“Had you succeeded, Ser Jaime, you would have been granted the title of _queenslayer,_ as well,” she spat.

Daenerys sensed the uneasy gaze of Brianne of Tarth and thought that perhaps she had overstepped. But she quickly discarded that notion. She would not apology for her hash words to Jaime Lannister.

“Would you excuse us a minute, Brianne?” Jaime asked the knight to both her and Brianne’s surprise. The woman looked at her, questioning and Daenerys nodded in assent. After her sign, the knight woman swivelled her horse and went to find the Hound. Podrick followed after her.

“I know what everybody says of me: Jaime Lannister, an oathbreaker, a kingslayer, a man without honour,” he said bitterly. “I’ve carried the weight of that decision all my life…” he explained grasping the horse bridle.

“Do you expect me to feel sorry for you, Ser Jaime? You ruined my life the moment you decided to break you vows, to drive your sword through your king’s back killing him,” she said coldly. Jaime looked, even so, somehow resolved, though she believed to catch a small gleam of guilt hiding in his eyes. “However,” she resumed, “I know why you did it. I know what my father was, Ser Barristan Selmy told me. I know what he intended to do with the city,” she locked her eyes with Jaime’s, “…your brother, Tyrion, told me,” she explained. “It is true that you ruined my life that day, but you saved thousands of innocents lives in exchange,” Daenerys saw Jaime looking at her gawping. “So there is nothing to forgive,” she concluded, suddenly nervous. She had never thought that that day would come; the day when she would be riding next to his father’s assassin and the day she would finally forgive him for his crime. She imagined what her brother Viserys would have said if he could see her now. Probably he would have yelled at her to feed him to her dragons or, most likely, he would have tried to duel him with fatal consequences to her brother even when Jaime lacked one hand. She laughed inwardly at her sudden thought. Truth be told, she had never imagined that they would come to be allies to begin with so one could never know.

Jaime seemed to reflect on her words for a while before he finally spoke.

“I do not regret killing Aerys,” he whispered. “It was one of the most rightful decisions I have ever taken, despite people believing that what I did was against all honour,” he said determined. “However, there are other things I do regret,” he added staring to the horizon.

Daenerys was captivated by his words; there was something in them that was so true and so honest that she was taken aback by their strength.

“I regret no being able to protect your mother from Aerys and Rhaegar’s children from the monsters my father sent after them,” he confessed. Daenerys looked at him in surprise and waited until he decided to continue. He sighted.

“Your mother, Queen Rhaella, had a very unfortunate and unhappy life. She was forced into marrying her brother and suffered many miscarriages, which your father blamed on her. He grew suspicious of everybody by the day, including your mother and he even blamed her for the death of your siblings. He became more and more paranoid and at some point he started to mistreat her and to abuse her,” he shuddered. “I had always thought that the duty of the Kingsguard was to protect the royal family, all of its members. But I couldn’t protect her from him,” he added taciturn.

“They avoided each other, they lived separated lives, but every time your father executed someone by burning them with wildfire, that night he would visit your mother’s chambers and nobody in the Red Keep would be able to sleep with your mother’s screams. One of those times, after he had executed Lord Chelsted, your mother’s ladies in waiting reported having seen bruises, bites and scratches all over her body,” he finished in a whisper.

Daenerys’ eyes had clouded and she was filled with sadness for the mother she had never met and rage towards her father, of whom she wished she had never heard about. She averted her gaze, trying to prevent Jaime Lannister to glimpse the tears that were pooling in her eyes, but it was in vane. He had remained silent for a while and Daenerys thought for a second that he had interpreted her silence as a sign of not wanting to know more. However, she was surprised when he resumed talking, as if he was doing it not only for her, but because it was something that he needed to do too.

“The last time I ever saw her was the day she and your brother, Viserys, were sent to Dragonstone,” he continued. “Two weeks later the city fell.”

“How did it happen?” Daenerys asked with a faint thread of voice. She needed to know what has happened the day her family’s dynasty ended.

“My father had taken his armies to the city gates and had requested Aerys to open them. My father served once as your father’s Hand and he presented himself as a true friend of the Crown. However, I pleaded with Aerys to not let him in, as I suspected my father’s true intentions. But he wouldn’t listen. He didn’t listen to me, he didn’t pay attention to Lord Varys’ warning,” he insisted. “He only listened to Gran Maester Pycelle who suggested to open the gates to my father and so he did it. If I’m honest I believed for a slight moment that my father could be actually there to help the Targaryens. However soon I was proven wrong, when the streets in King’s Landing dyed of red and the blood began running down its hills,” he explained. “The city was being sacked and your father ordered me to bring him my father’s head,” he explained bitterly. “He then proceeded to command his pyromancer to set afire the catches of wildfire he had placed under the city. I recall he said ‘ _the traitors want my city, but I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat’_ ” he related. “I have only told this to Tyrion, Brianne and now you,” he confessed. “You need to know the truth of what happened that day in King’s Landing for it marked the tone for the following twenty years. Lannisters doing the dirty work of the Baratheons.”

“What happened after?” she asked him trying to compose. Ser Barristan Selmy’s account of her father’s atrocities had paled in comparison to Ser Jaime’s words. She was horrified.

“Then the slaughtering of the princelings happened. Gregor Clegale, the Mountain, and Amory Lorch appeared in the Throne, following my father’s commands to go an kill Rhaegar’s children as a proof of his new allegiance to Robert Baratheon,” he said and Daenerys could see he was actually trembling. “I never thought they would do something like that,” he said deeply affected.

“What did they do to them?” she requested to know, fury veiled in her voice. Jaime averted his gaze, avoiding her piercing stare. “What did they do to them, Ser Jaime?” she asked him again.

“Gregor Clegane crashed little Aegon’s head against a wall and then raped Elia Martell with her son’s blood still covering his hands and Amory Lorch searched for Rhaenys, who had hidden under Rhaegar’s bed. He dragged her out and stabbed her to death,” he concluded.

Daenerys was livid with rage. She pictured the images of the butchering of her relatives and tears misted her eyes. She lost all composure at the thought of the little bodies being mutilated and defiled. She saw Jaime Lannister staring at her and she didn’t mind that he saw her crying, for his eyes showed a similar pain.

“Until that moment I had thought the Rebellion had been about deposing your father, about avenging his cruel actions against the Realm and its people. I even thought that it was about righting Rhaegar’s actions against House Stark,” he resumed. “However, the moment I saw the tiny bodies of Rhaenys and Aegon being placed at Robert’s feet, swaddled in crimson cloaks to hide the butchery, was the moment that I knew it was never about Aerys, but the throne. The war was never about ending your father’s tyranny; it was a game for power, a game of thrones,” he stated almost spitefully. “A game I helped to play for a long time…” he said to himself whispering that almost Daenerys missed it. “Perhaps it was about honour for House Stark and the Northerners, but for my father it wasn’t and neither it was for Robert Baratheon. The former wanted power, the latter revenge: he wanted House Targaryen’s blood,” he admitted. “Robert was pleased by the outcome of the Sacking of King’s Landing, but Ned Stark was disgusted by the deaths of Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon: I remember he accused Robert of murdering children, to what Robert replied ‘ _I see no babes, only dragonspawn’._ Honourable Ned Stark had fought against the Mad King and yet when he found me next to his body he wanted to send me to the Night’s Watch for breaking my oaths. Honourable Ned Stark had fought to overthrow House Targaryen, but was disgusted when he learnt of the consequences of the war,” he seemed to be mocking Lord Stark’s motivations, however he added: “It caused a rift between Robert and Ned, who abandoned the capital and went to break the siege of Storm’s End. He then rode south, to Dorne, as Lyanna Stark was still missing. He found her in a placed known as the Tower of Joy,” he said.

Daenerys had been paying attention to his relate closely, but those last words jarred her. ‘(…) _In a tower of Dorne_ ’ Bran had said, she remembered. She had been moved by the words he had given to her when they had met; those words had heralded something she couldn’t grab just yet. However, she decided to let it be for now, ad there were probably many towers in Dorne and Bran’s statement and Ser Jaime’s tale had nothing to do.

“She was guarded by a small group of kingsguards who hadn’t fought during the war. Among them there was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He was the greatest swordman in Westeros for as long as he lived and so he got the honour to wield ‘ _Dawn’_ ” he resumed his account.

“‘ _Dawn?”_ she asked not knowing what it was.

“Dawn is the name of House Dayne's legendary sword. It is said to be forged from the heart of a fallen star,” he explained not understanding her sudden interest.

Daenerys’ heart skipped a beat. ‘ _A fallen star bleeding at dawn,”_ Bran’s voice reminded her once again. She shook her head as she saw that she was taking it out of context, reaching to see an ulterior meaning.

“Ned Stark is said to have defeated Ser Arthur Dayne and there must be something of true to that because only Ned Stark and one of his companions returned from Dorne,” he said looking at the distance, trying to catch a glimpse of the ancestral home of the Reed, “However, it was all in vane for Lyanna Stark had died by the end of the rebellion,” he added pensively.

“How did she die?” Daenerys asked silently.

“Nobody knows. Honourable Ned Stark returned with two secrets from the war: Lyanna Stark’s cause of death and the name of his bastard’s mother,” he replied. “Many believed that Lyanna died from the injuries inflected by …” he hesitated, “your brother’s actions on her, however, Ned Stark never confirmed it nor denied it.”

“What about Jon Snow’s mother?” she asked curiously, although a part of her hated to meddle into Jon’s life without his permission. She wanted to know more about the possible mother of Jon and how she and Ned had come to fall in love, if they ever had.

“Many people believe she was Lady Ashara Dayne, sister to Ser Arthur, to whom he was rumoured to be smitten with. They met at the Harrenhal Tournament, where your brother crowned Lady Lyanna the Queen of Beauty and Love by placing a crown of blue winter roses on her lap,” he said. Daenerys attempted to assimilate his words, as Bran’s voice reverberated in her head: _‘There is no flower so rare nor so precious like the winter rose with blue petals the colour of frost’._ She tried to shake that thought, but instead another voice haunted her again: ‘ _My aunt Lyanna loved blue winter roses’_ Sansa had told her. Very strange ideas were starting to take form in her head, but she couldn’t allow herself to fall for those tricks of the mind.

“The gossip spread after he travelled to Starfall, the ancient emplacement to House Dayne, to pay his respects to Ser Arthur’s family and to bring ‘Dawn’ to his relatives. Lady Ashara Dayne committed suicide shortly after, tormented by the death of her brother by her lover’s hands,” he explained. “Many people believe the rumours to be true as Lord Eddard returned to the North, where his lady wife, Catelyn Tully, was waiting for him, with a baby boy from the South,” he finished.

“Wasn’t King Jon born in the North?” she asked looking at Jaime, who shook his head. “Then, why is his last name ‘Snow’? If I am not mistaken that is the surname given to natural children in the North, isn’t it?” she inquired.

“I suppose that Ned Stark didn’t want to give a way the identity of his lover to protect her honour, at least, since his was already stained. Or perhaps he thought it more fit as Jon Snow turned out to look more of a Northerner that any of the children that Catelyn could ever bear him.”

“Why did Lord Eddard marry Lady Catelyn if Ashara Dayne and he were in love?” she asked confused.

Jaime looked at her and Daenerys could have sworn that he was pleased about her listening to what he had to say. She was surprised that she could actually enjoy a conversation with Ser Jaime, even if it wasn't the kind of sweet, but the opposite, raw and painful. She had always wanted to know all the things that had happened during the rebellion and in the aftermath, but she had never had anybody who could talk from an inner position with no intention to sugarcoat it for her. Ser Jaime Lannister could and he was willing to share his account with her, so even if she had never expected to listen to what the ‘ _kingslayer’_ had to say, she was glad they were able to talk about it.

“Duty. When Brandon Stark was executed, Ned took his place as heir of Winterfell. The Rebellion had already started and they needed the Tully’s men, so that is why he married her,” he explained. “All in all, I guess we would never know what exactly happened down south.”

“Who was Ned Stark’s companion that survived Dorne?” Daenerys asked. She wanted to be able to provide Jon with all the information she could in case he ever wanted to go find his mother’s name.

“Oh,” he smirked. “The Gods had wanted us to tell the story while travelling his lands,” he stated ironically. “The man who came back from Dorne with Lord Stark, the only person who could ever corroborate the stories told is Howland Reed,” he finished.

‘Howland Reed’ she memorised.

“In the end…” Jaime resumed talking. “It was all for nothing. Yes, your father and brother were dead, but so were many other innocent people like your family and Lyanna Stark herself. Robert became king, but the void left in his heart was never filled up again. Many lives were ruined in that war, like your brother Viserys and yours,” he added. “I remember him. He was a strange lad, overprotected by your father. What happened to him?”

Daenerys looked at him unsure whether to tell him or not facts about her life. She was reluctant to share her secrets with the man who had killed his father and helped overthrow her family. However, staring now at him Daenerys could see more of the man Tyrion had told her about than the _kingslayer_ her brother Viserys had made her hate during her childhood.

“He died…” she started coldly, “killed by the man he sold me to....” Jaime was gazing her with a strange look, as if he was wondering what kind of act he had performed to have his sister talk about his death without remorse. “…After he threatened my unborn child,” she confessed.

“What happened to your child?” he ventured to ask hesitantly.

Daenerys doubted for a second whether to reply or not, but she understood that Rhaego’s death was something they couldn’t use against her.

“He was stillborn,” she simply answered.

They remained quiet for a while after her confession, only the neighs of the horses heard as they trotted over the paddles. Daenerys was surprise that talking to a stranger about her life’s events was not painful, but on the contrary, it was freeing. She had spent too much time of her life alone, even if there had been people who were willing to listen, but unable to sooth her pain.

“I am sorry,” Ser Jaime’s voice startled her. “I do know very well the feeling of losing a child and not being able to do anything to stop it,” he confessed.

Daenerys turned to stare at him. He was opening up too, to her surprise. But she wasn’t going to push him; she would let him explain as much as he wished, like she had done. So she didn’t ask anything, only waited until he was ready to add something else.

“I know that Joffrey was a monster, he was a terrible person and a worse king, but he was still my son,” he confessed staring at Daenerys like expecting her to judge him for finally admitting that he was the father to Cersei’s children. But Daenerys didn’t judge him. How could she? She was the product of the Targaryen incest and though she knew that many people despised those practices, she was who she was because the dragonlords had inbred to keep the blood pure. Her dragons had been born thanks to it. “I saw him dying in agony at his own wedding and all I could do was staring at his inert body when the poison finally took him,” he shuddered. She understood Jaime’s pain, but couldn’t share his grief, as she knew the kind of person Joffrey Baratheon had been. He seemed to read her thoughts because he added: “Maybe Joffrey deserved his fate…” he said with difficulty, “but, Myrcella,” he exclaimed in a whisper holding all his rage, “she bled out in front of me, unjustly paying for other people’s sins. She was pure and she…” he added barely holding the tears.

“I know,” Daenerys intervened. “Tyrion told me about Myrcella and Tommen. He loved them very much and he spoke very fondly of them.”

“Tommen…” he resumed again, as if he hadn’t been listening to her, “my poor boy couldn’t stand the game for power and I arrived too late to stop Cersei from committing the actions that led to his death,” he ended up admitting almost in the brink of crying.

Daenerys sensed all the bitterness Ser Jaime had been holding against the death of his children and, above all, the guilt that underlay in his words. She thought for a moment to express her condolences, but she understood that he didn’t want them nor needed them. He had had the necessity to say out loud all the things he had been keeping to himself, all those years of suffering and remorse. Daenerys was blindsided by the feeling that the kingslayer was provoking in her: sympathy.

“Thank you, Ser Jaime,” she finally said when she spoke again. Jaime looked at her, the gleam of surprise shining in his green eyes. “Thank you for telling me this,” she told him sincerely. “All of this. The truth,” she emphasised.

“How do you know I did not lie to you?” he asked her returning to his soft voice.

Daenerys stared to the horizon where she started to distinguish the forms of a dilapidated fortress that towered on top of a hill. She swallowed hard, moistened her lips and then averted her lilac eyes to catch his.

“Because you came her alone, Ser Jaime,” she replied. “You risked yourself to stick to a pledge you could have easily broken. Because perhaps I believe that the kingslayer, the oathbreaker,” she announced theatrically, “…has finally decided to respect his promises and honour his vows. And maybe, only for that he deserves a chance to be listened and trusted,” she pointed out.

Jaime observed her for a while before replying: “You do really take after your mother.”


	8. Sansa I

**SANSA I**

Jon left the room slamming the door thunderously. She looked at Bran, trying to get a logical answer out of him, but he had still that absent stare of him that disturbed her. It didn’t creep her out because she was afraid of her brother. No. It troubled her because he showed no empathy when addressing other people, as if he couldn’t relate to human emotions, like if he weren’t Bran Stark anymore, but indeed the so-called Three-eyed-raven he claimed to be. He threw his knowledge upon people not caring about their feelings: Sansa had experienced it herself when he had told her about her wedding night with Ramsay. He hadn’t shared her pain when he had told her she looked beautiful that night; he had just stated it, indifferently, as if it weren’t her sister whom he was speaking to. And now he had that very same look again and Sansa wanted to shout at him, to make him see how his coldness was killing her, and everybody that had ever loved him.

She sensed movement beside her and then someone jumped from their chair. She turned just in time to see Arya rushing towards the door.

“Arya,” she exclaimed. “Leave him alone,” she told her sister. Arya looked at her furiously, but she softened her expression understanding that she had said it with the best of the intentions. “Give him some space,” she explained. Arya took a breath, but then nodded and went back to her chair.

“How is this possible?” she gasped still shocked. Sansa looked at his sister and then turned down her gaze to examine the old book that she held in her lap. She read the lines that described the events narrated by Samwell Tarly. The High Septon had indeed issued an annulment to Rhaegar’s and Elia’s marriage, and had later on wedded her aunt and the Crown Prince secretly, but it didn’t mention anything about a babe. That information seemed to be missing from the diary.

“It says nothing about a child. How can you be certain that he is indeed my aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son?” she asked exteriorly unperturbed, though she had to admit to her inner self that she was profoundly shaken.

Samwell Tarly moved uncomfortably in his chair and looked at Bran, hoping he would explain his part to his sister. “The diary only states Rhaegar’s annulment to Elia and their secret marriage in Dorne,” he confirmed.

“I saw it on a vision, I see it all now,” he whispered. “Lyanna died of childbirth after she made father promise that he would keep Aegon safe.”

“Don’t call him that!” Arya exploded. Sansa stared seriously at her sister, who seemed to be getting back to her old habits of screaming at anybody who didn’t agree with her.

“That’s problematic” Sansa continued. “Without a proof that he is indeed their child, he would never be able to claim his rights…” she continued glancing at Bran and Sam.

“Would you shut up?!” Arya yelled. “Is that the only thing you can think about right now?” she accused her.

Sansa froze under her sister’s stare, but the truth was that she was right. _What was she thinking?_ Jon was probably going through hell, knowing that many of the things he believed true were not and she could only think about the implications of the revelation. She felt dirty and her cheeks tinted the red of shame.

“You’re right, Arya. I am sorry,” she apologised to her sister’s surprise. Arya was breathing heavily, but her words seemed to calm her a bit.

“I need to go to talk to him,” she pleaded. “He needs to know…” she said, but Sansa interrupted her.

“We’ll talk to him, Arya,” she assured her little sister grabbing both her hands. “This changes nothing,” Sansa stated and it was true, she realised. Jon’s identity reveal didn’t change anything. He was still their brother, the brother who had wanted to go south to get warm after being stabbed and betrayed by his sworn brother, but had pushed his wishes aside to help her retake their home. The brother who had never held a grudge against her despite her poor behaviour towards him in their childhood. The brother who had fought so foolishly, but all the same valiantly, during the battle against Ramsay for their future, because she had asked. The brother who had trusted her enough to leave her in charge of Winterfell, even though he knew she had hidden things from him before. The brother who trusted her to be his heiress in spite of their differences. That brother was still Jon, no matter his given name. He hadn’t changed and neither would their love for him.

“Are you sure?” Arya questioned her.

“I am sure. Jon’s our brother,” she said looking at both Arya and Bran. “Ned Stark might have not fathered him, but he was as much his father as he was ours,” she stated convinced. Sansa saw Arya smiling at her, relieved. She then was caught by surprise when her sister threw herself into her arms, embracing her strongly. Sansa froze, as she was not used to such a display of affection, let alone from Arya, but she soon reciprocated the hug.

When they separated, Sansa averted his gaze to look at both Bran and Sam. “This will remain a secret. Nobody says a word unless Jon wants it known,” she riveted them. “Am I clear?”

Samwell nodded intimidated by Sansa’s authority, but Bran returned her gaze impassibly.

“Aegon must…” he began, but his cold voice was the last straw to Sansa, who stood up.  
“This is not your decision, Bran. You can’t drop these visions of yours upon people and expect them to accept them like they mean nothing to them. We are people and we have feelings!” she exploded. Sansa sensed Arya’s eyes stuck on her, but she didn’t say anything.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a feast to organise,” she said turning to leave.

“I am coming with you,” she heard Arya say. She gave Samwell a last warning look and then she left the room.

She headed to her chambers, the ones that had once belonged to her parents, Catelyn and Ned, as it was the one destined to the lord paramount of Winterfell. Jon should have kept them, but he hadn’t wanted. Sansa knew that he hadn’t wanted any of the things he had had to accept just because they needed a leader for the coming battles. Sansa believed that Jon had pushed her to take the room because he felt guilty that he was taking her birthright as trueborn daughter of Ned Stark, but the truth was that Jon hadn’t taken anything from her. In fact he had given her her home back. The Northern bannermen had chosen him as their leader because they had seen in him the loyalty and the honour that a true member of House Stark would have. Sansa had seen it too and, despite Littlefinger’s efforts to set her against her brother, she had been proud when she had heard the Great Hall proclaiming him King in the North. They disagreed in many things, but she had conceded after a long time reflecting on her thoughts, that while Jon’s actions were moved by honour and what it was best for everybody, her own were motivated to grand extent by vengeance. She had recognised Cersei’s ways in her own actions and she had been horrified by the discovery. She knew that the Lannister Queen had influenced her for better or for worst and she was now willing to leave her teachings behind, as she would never let her creep inside of her again, threatening to make her a copy of the monster Cersei had become.

She had learnt from Lord Baelish too. He used to tell her that it was crucial that she observed and examined everything and everybody around her, for she would see that behind every person’s actions there was something that motivated them. So she had followed her former tutor’s ways and she had studied Jon, while trying to improve their former relationship. She wanted to know what moved him so she could foreseen his actions and, now she shamefully admitted to herself, to control him.

At first she had thought that his only purpose was defeating the Night King and that the thing that pushed him to fight was his will to survive. But soon she had discovered that she had been wrong. Jon, indeed, wanted to defeat the Army of the Dead; nobody could deny that. He had settled to destroy them to ensure the survival of the people of Westeros, but every of his actions showed, to Sansa’s horror, that he had very little desire to survive himself the coming war. She had seen it during the Battle of the Bastards, when he had charged against an entire enemy army alone and she had seen how reckless he had been. She had also noticed it when he had lightly decided to go south to meet with Daenerys, as if he hadn’t cared that she could burn him alive. Thank the Gods, the Dragon Queen had turned out to be a somehow reasonable person and his plans had been frustrated.

But now she worried again about him. This revelation could wreck him completely. She knew where his longing for death came from. They had never spoken openly about it, but she knew what had happened at the Night’s Watch. Sansa knew that his sworn brothers had stabbed him to death. Jon had never said it out loud, but she had heard the men at Castle Black saying it while nobody thought there was someone listening and she had been left in shock. At first she hadn’t wanted to believe it, but she had caught a glimpse of Jon’s chest when he had been treated from his injuries after the Battle of the Bastards and she had finally seen that the tales about the Red Priestess bringing him back were true. She was no maester, but she knew that the scar he had above his heart was lethal. His experience with death had marked him and had traumatised him, she reckoned, and she worried that this new blow would make him do something stupid that would cost him his life. She was determined to prevent it and she would need help for it.

Arya and herself had reached her chambers and they entered, abandoning the corridor behind the locked door.

“Arya, I need to tell you something,” she added quickly after her sister had sat on one of the leather armchairs of the room. “But I need you to promise you won’t comment this with anybody, not even with Jon,” she remarked very serious.

She saw Arya staring back at her wondering what was it.

“Do you remember the man father executed shortly before King Robert visited Winterfell to appoint father his Hand?” she asked walking around her room.

“I do. I beg father to let me come with him when I found out that he was taking Bran, but he wouldn’t hear about it,” she said in a huff.

“Why was he executed?” Sansa questioned her.

“I think he was a deserter,” she said making an effort to think about it. “From the Night’s Watch,” she said slowly as if she had realised something suddenly. “What are you implying?” she asked furrowing her brow.

Sansa felt she was back on her accusatory tone.

“Haven’t you wondered why the Night’s Watch would let Jon leave without considering him a deserter?” she quickly added.

Arya shrugged and shook her head.

“What are the Night’s Watch’s oaths, Arya?”

She saw her sister closing her eyes, trying to remember what the oaths said. But Sansa hadn’t the patience for it.

“How long do they last? When do they end?” she said impatiently.

“They are oaths for life,” Arya replied. She let out a small gasp before looking at her sister with an incredulous stare. “Why are you asking me this?

Sansa breathed before explaining it to Arya. “Jon never broke those oaths, Arya. He stood by them until…” she continued. “…until the end,” she finished her sentence whispering.

Arya’s eyes opened in realisation and a mask of anger took over her face, understanding her words. “How is it possible? “When did this…?” she started asking, but suddenly her tone became dark, very dangerous and Sansa stepped back scared of her sister. “Who did it, Sansa? Tell me their names,” she required her and though she hadn’t raised her voice, a shiver ran through Sansa’s spine.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Sansa said shaking her head. “They are dead. Jon executed them afterwards,” she quickly added before Arya could reply anything.

“How did it happen? How is he…?” Arya didn’t dare to pronounce it out loud.

“‘ _Alive_?’ A Red Priestess brought him back, Melissandre was her name,” Sansa added. She looked at her little sister and to her surprise she seemed calmed. “What is it?”

“I know the witch. I met her once when I travelled with the Brotherhood without Banners. She is… was, on my list,” she added doubtful.

“Do you believe me then?”

“Yes, I do. I’ve seen it being done before. By Thoros of Myr to Beric Dondarrion,” she explained. “Why are you telling me this? Jon didn’t tell me about it,” she questioned her.

“I am telling you because I worry for Jon. Since he…” Sansa started, but the truth it was that it was difficult to speak in those terms, “came back he’s been acting strange, recklessly. Like if he hadn’t wanted to be brought back, Arya,” she said nervously. “And this… new information could push him even further to do something very stupid.”

Sansa saw Arya studying her, like trying to tell if she was lying or not.

“I won’t let that happen. _We_ won’t let that happen, Sansa,” she promised very serious.

Sansa nodded and then pointed towards the door, indicating that it was time for them to leave and go do their duty, but just when she was about to pass through the threshold, she noted something pulling her hand from behind and when she stared back to catch a glimpse of the grip, Sansa saw Arya clasping her hand. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Sansa,” she said squeezing her hand. Then she let go of it and together they exited the room.

They walked towards the kitchen, for what they needed to go through the corridors that led to the Great Hall. They remained quiet for Sansa knew that Arya was devising a ruse to avoid Jon falling for his despair. They were close to they destination when she heard Jon’s angry voice. They rushed towards the small group gathered and to her surprise she saw Tormund, who should have been watching the Wall at Eastwatch-by-the-sea. He didn’t have time to explain his presence in Winterfell after she had asked, because Jon urged them to move to find Daenerys’ advisor so they could share the news with them.

The meeting was over soon; the news dropped in it the worst they could have received. She had never seen neither the White Walkers nor their army, but the frightened expressions of strong men like Tormund, Ser Jorah or even her brother Jon when they delivered the news, was more than enough to scare her.

She decided to come with Ser Davos to inform the bannermen to an immediate meeting in the Great Hall and in less than 30 minutes there they stood again, sitting in the table with her brothers and sister and Daenerys’ council facing the wondering faces of the Northern lords. The man called Grey Worm was there too in representation of the army of the Unsullied. There was a silent moment while everybody wondered why they had been summoned for the second time in a day, just before supper. They remained still until the doors opened and Ned Umber entered the room accompanied by his guards. Everybody turned to look at the boy who sat quietly at the back of the room.

Lord Cerwin stood up from his spot in the bench and directly addressed Jon.

“Excuse me, Your Grace, but my men have been wondering…” Sansa noticed he was actually nervous, “where the Dragon Queen has gone.” A murmur rose in the room, similar questions being heard among the mumblings. “They watched her took fly around an hour ago.”

Sansa looked at his brother, whose countenance was cold as stone.

“The Queen has gone to meet with the Dothraki, as snowstorm had kept them stuck in the Vale for some weeks now,” Lord Tyrion replied in Jon’s stead.

“She’s left the Unsullied here to help us protect the North,” Sansa came to her ex-husband’s aid. Lord Cerwin seemed pleased with the answer and took back his seat.

“Your Grace,” Lady Lyanna’s voice reverberated in the room, strong as a bear’s roar. “Why have you summoned us? Is anything wrong?”

Jon stood from his chair and walked to the centre of the room so he could look at his people’s eyes when delivering the news. Sansa saw him struggling to speak, how to put into words the disaster looming over them.

“The Wall has fallen,” he simply said and the Great Hall responded with silence. Sansa had expected the Northerners to shout, to yell and to curse, but instead Jon’s words were received with the gravity they held. Jon resumed his speech.

“Today Tormund Gigantsbane and Beric Dondarrion arrived from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea where they had been stationed on my orders, to supervise the arrival of the Army of the Dead to the Wall,” he explained. “They arrived with Ned Umber,” he added pointing at the back of the hall where Ned sat with his head down “after meeting with him in Last Hearth.”

Sansa saw Jon swallowing, preparing himself to deliver the fatal news to the bannermen. “They informed us that the White Walkers have breached the Wall and that they have started their march south, destroying Last Hearth, and who knows what else, in their path.”

Sansa closed her eyes, containing her own fear and shook her head to remove from her thoughts the image of the North perishing under the White Walkers’ frost.

“There are no survivors,” Jon stated. “Only Ned Umber and his guards came out alive.”

Lord Wylis spoken then. “I don’t mean to doubt your word, Your Grace. But it is very difficult to believe such tales,” he said cautiously.

Jon looked at him coldly, but instead it was Ned Umber who spoke. “We were preparing to travel to Winterfell, after finally gathering the rest of our men, when Tormund and Beric arrived in my home,” he said almost sobbing. “They hurried us to run, and just a few moments later, the fortress was surrounded by a blizzard that didn’t allow us to see anything…” he was standing now, looking with frightening eyes to the bannermen. “The wildling, Tormund, ordered my men to take me with them, and so they did it. However, just before we escaped to the woods I saw it, the wights the King told us about and…” he looked at Jon, asking for his permission to continue, unsure if he should let them know.

“And what, boy!” exclaimed Lord Glover. “What did you see?”

“I saw it, the blue flame…” he explained trembling. “The dragon.”

Everybody remained quiet, assimilating Ned’s words, but Lord Glover, who started to get angry.

“A dragon?! How is this possible?!” he exploded and then he seemed to form his own opinion in his head. “You said the Targaryen girl had three dragons when you went south to meet with her, but she only arrived here with two! She’s given the enemy one!” he spat irrationally. “She’s betrayed us and then left to save her arse!” He was now raving. “We warned you of this! She wants the North destroyed so she could seize control of our lands!” he spat full of hatred.

Sansa sensed movement behind her and when she looked back to see what it was, she saw Grey Worm taking his hand to grip the knife pending from his belt. The commander of the Unsullied wasn’t going to tolerate the Northern lords speaking ill and falsely of his Queen and so she intervened before it would become serious.

“Lord Glover, sit down,” she ordered him. “We don’t know how is that the Army of the Dead got a dragon,” she lied to the bannermen, “but the King has already informed you that Queen Daenerys has gone to bring her army North. House Stark won’t tolerate your insults against our guests and allies under this roof,” she reminded him coldly. “So shut up,” she added.

“How long until they reach Winterfell?” Lord Cerwin asked then. “Should we go back to our homes to protect them?”

“We have at least a week,” suddenly Bran’s voice spoke. The whole Great Hall hushed and turned their eyes to look at the unemotional Stark boy. “They are marching on Karhold at his very moment.” he added.

“We have to send them aid, Your Grace!” Lyanna Mormont exclaimed.

“It is already too late. Karhold will be doomed by nightfall. There is nothing we can do to help them,” Bran stated.

Sansa was horrified by his apathy. He was delivering the news of a whole fortress and its people being destroyed and killed and he couldn’t care any less. She resorted for Arya, whose eyes remained stuck in Jon’s back, which rose and fell following the rhythm of his breath.

“We should start preparing for their arrival. Immediately,” Sansa decided to speak and a murmur of assent could be heard all over the hall. “The Unsullied and the Northern forces should be enough to resist until Queen Daenerys arrives with the Dothraki and her dragons.”

However, Jon didn’t look at her, he was still.

“What should we do, King Jon?” Ser Davos asked, restraining his nerves and speaking calmly.

Jon turned to look at his advisor and then his eyes moved to meet Sansa’s.

“We have to evacuate the North,” he simply replied. Sansa felt the air leave her lungs, crashed by what she had been dreading that would be the words her brother would speak. She refused to believe it was the last option they had left. They had fought so fiercely to take their home back that she could not bare the thought of having to leave it once again.

“No,” Sansa said, more loudly than she had intended. “We just took Winterfell back, we won’t leave it again.”

The hall went quiet as the siblings stared at each other, defiance showing in Sansa’s eyes. She knew Jon had once asked her not to question his decisions in front of their people, but Sansa couldn’t accept the idea that there was nothing else they could do to protect their home.

“I am the King and you’ll do as I command, Lady Sansa,” Jon calmly told her and though his tone had been soft, his eyes were burning and the authority her brother transmitted through his voice took Sansa aback. Sansa saw Jon turning to face the rest of the people present at the meeting and he took a deep breath before continuing. "The Wall has fallen and I won't allow my people to be massacred like I saw the Wildings be at Hardhome. The armies would march down the Kingsroad to meet with the Dothraki and together we will march down the Neck to the Vale, where we will wait for the Lannister forces” he started explaining staring back at the men at the Great Hall. “Those who cannot fight will go to White Harbour to sail to Dragonstone were the Queen’s people will receive and shelter them.” He looked at Tyrion, who nodded in agreement.

Sansa remained silent through the statement, half mad at Jon, half desolated by the prospect of what they had to do.

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but going to the Vale does not seem a very wise idea,” Ser Jorah interrupted Jon’s explanation.

Sansa saw Lord Ryce about to open his mouth to reply to Jorah’s words when the knight continued his explanation.

“The Vale is a perfect vantage point to be defended against normal armies formed by people that can get tired and can die. But we are not facing a normal enemy. This one does not get tired, doesn’t die if not for the dragonglass and the fire, and they have a dragon. If they decide to attack us and they will, we will all die. There is no way out from the Vale.”

Mormont’s statement froze the hall and all the looks turned to Jon, who was trying to figure out another option.

“If you allow me to suggest something, Your Grace,” Lord Varys broke the silence. “I might propose to travel further south.” His words were welcomed with murmurs.  "I recall that you once said that the wights cannot swim.” he waited until Jon had nodded. This…” he said shaking his head, “this is the worst of the scenarios, but if we are going to fight them, it would be better to try to find another natural barrier to stop them, or at least to slow them down,” he stated.

“The Riverlands are full of rivers and their tributaries, Your Grace,” Lord Cerwin said understanding Varys’ suggestion and something in Sansa’s head clicked.

“We could go to Riverrun,” she intervened. “My uncle retook the castle and it is past the forks.”

“Yes, but he did it with the help of the Lannisters’ forces,” Lord Ryce argued back. "You want to take us to the Lion's Den."

“The Lannisters are with us in this fight, my lord,” Tyrion explained. “They are our allies against the common enemy. This could work,” he added looking at Sansa with a half-smile in his face.

“Actually…” Lord Varys’ voice interrupted “I meant somewhere where we could fit all of our armies.” He averted his gaze from Sansa and Tyrion to address Jon. “Riverrun is not big enough to host us all,” he explained opening his eyes.

“What are you suggesting, then, Lord Varys?” Jon asked him.

“Harrenhal,” he simply said.

Sansa reflected on that name and her knowledge of the fortress. Her mother used to tell them stories when they were younger about the keep built by the enslaved people of the riverlands under the subjugation of Harren the Black. ‘ _On_ _the shores of the Gods Eye, due north of the Isle of Faces, rises a monument to arrogance and cruelty: Harrenhal, the mightiest fortress Westeros had ever seen. A castle that could garrison a million men with walls so vast that summer and winters would come and go and besieging armies grow old and gray before the castle fell. Five towers he ordered reaching into the heavens like grasping fingers. A monstrosity,”_ her mother’s voice sounded in her head, but was soon interrupted by the sudden image of a face and a voice she wished she could soon forget: Littlefinger’s. She then remembered that Twyin Lannister had granted Petyr Harrenhal for his loyal services, keeping the Vale out of the War of the Five Kings and plotting the alliance between the Lannisters and the Tyrells that ended up saving Joffreys’ reign during the Battle of the Blackwater. She knew all of this because Littlefinger had been bragging about possessing the greatest fortress ever built in Westeros while he had explained to her how he had diverted funds from the Vale’s Treasury ( _‘with Lysa’s approval, of course, my dear Sansa’)_ to rebuild and restore the Castle that belonged to House Baelish. Or had belonged, because with Littlefinger’s death, the fortress remained once again ownerless.

“…I am sure, that with the death of Lord Baelish, the castle is again free to be inhabited,” Varys added looking in her direction and then moving his head to face once again Jon.

Jon reflected on the Spider’s words for a while and then looked at her, as if he was waiting for her approval. Sansa nodded.

“Then, this is set. We will march south… to Harrenhal,” Tyrion spoke and Sansa realized he seemed nervous.

“I will order that ravens are sent immediately to every fortress, keep or village in the North informing of the news: every man or woman who is capable of fighting must join us in Moat Caitlin as soon as possible, and anyone else must evacuate the North. This is not a suggestion, this is an order” Jon stated seriously. “Take every provision and ammunition you can with you, but leave everything else behind. Those who want to send any special message should go to Maester Wolkan before midnight today. Sleep tight. Tomorrow we will start the march south,” he stared at the Northerners and waited for anybody to ask something, but none said a word. “You’re dismissed,” he finished his intervention.

They waited until everybody had left the Hall to stand up from their chairs. Jon walked towards the table where they were and then approached her.

“I want you to lead the expedition to White Harbour, Sansa. Seeing the Lady of Winterfell among them will infect our people with the courage they’ll need to face the journey. Besides, someone will need to be my emissary in Dragonstone,” he tried to joke. “I’ll ask lord Cerwin for their best men to come with you to protect you…” he explain to her, but Sansa couldn’t believe her ears.

“No,” she interrupted him. “I will not be parted from my family again.”

“You won’t be away from you family…because Arya and Bran will be travelling with you,” he added.

“What?!” Sansa heard her sister’s voice shout. “No, I won’t. I will stay by your side, Jon. I can fight and I will fight,” she said, as if she was just informing him of an undeniable truth. "You might be the king..." Arya said using his previous speech, "but I am your sister and I coming with you." 

“You’ll need me, Jon,” Bran also stated. “To fight him,” he added and something seemed to click in Jon’s mind after Bran’s voice, because his face darkened before turning back to his usual brooding expression. 

“I won’t be able to protect you if you come with me,” Jon whispered. “…you won’t be safe.”

“We do not need to be safe, we need to stick together,” Arya reassured him and for a moment Sansa thought she saw a glimpse of hope in his brother’s black eyes. “When the cold wind blows, the lone wolf dies,…” Arya said to him.

“…but the pack survives,” Jon finished in a whisper.

 

* * *

 

 

It was early in the morning when her maids woke her. The room was freezing as if the fire lit in the hearth could not fight the cold that sneaked through the cracks of the walls. She left her room, her parents’ former room, which now looked empty after she had stored every one of her possessions in trunks that were to be sent to the castle’s storages, just in case they ever came back. She was only carrying with her her warmest cloths and cloaks and her mother’s old bevelled mirror and comb, the ones she had once used to brush her hair with. The only belonging from her former life she had been able to find in Winterfell on her return.

She joined Bran and Sam’s family in the Great Hall for breakfast, but she wasn’t able to fit anything in her mouth, sorrow being the only thing feeding her spirit. The meal was soon over and they all headed to the South Gate. There, across the arch, she could see the Unsullied forming in complete silence, waiting. She walked towards the small figure of Lord Tyrion, who talked quietly with the woman named Missandei and Lord Varys. She wouldn’t be able to remember later who had offered her a mount, but she found herself looking from atop of a black horse to the figures of her brother Jon and her sister Arya coming out of Winterfell. She observed how Arya put her foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle and how some men helped his brother Bran to sit on his horse, an achievement possible thanks to Lord Tyrion’s saddle design once gifted to the Stark boy. She also felt Jon’s affectionate squeeze over her hands and his sincere promise of joining them soon. He had decided that as king he would stay at Winterfell until every one of their people had left the fortress and were on their way south. Ser Jorah had offered himself to stay back with him, something Lord Tyrion had insinuated that would have pleased Daenerys had she been there.

And just like that they were ready to part. The party began to move quietly: the horses’ hoofs leaving behind them their prints in the snow and nobody daring to break the sudden silence. Sansa kept looking back at the fortress where she had been the happiest and the most miserable, the place her mind had travelled to shelter during those years in King’s Landing, the place where she had finally found her role in the game… and now the place she needed to leave once again. The feeling of sadness was overwhelming her, so when she finally looked away from Winterfell, she sensed it was her last farewell to the place she knew she was probably never returning to.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Jon III

**JON III**

Jon couldn’t sleep that night.

He was exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come for him. Every time he was closed to surrender to his tiredness, blue eyes cold as ice startled him in his dreams. Truth be told, Jon was relieved that he had an actual reason to worry, to be afraid, to be as moody as he wanted to be, for it would grant him the excuse to request being left alone. Facing the Night King was something he had done before, but the revelations that had been undisclosed to him… he’d rather not think about them, and the fall of the Wall and the destruction of the North gave him an excuse not to think over it.

He felt terrible. He was being selfish and he felt ashamed. Hundreds of people, maybe thousand would die soon if they were not fast enough to run away and the only thing he could think about was… it.

He had no way to know the time, but the sound of the servants packing everything up lasted at least a couple of hours after he had retired. He had tried to help, but he had had to admit that he was tired after more than a fortnight travelling by sea and land and he needed to rest. So he followed Sansa’s orders to go to his bedroom to try to sleep. However, he couldn’t so he waited until the corridors behind his room’s door went quiet and slowly got up.He was used to the North’s icy temperatures, but when he removed the blankets that covered his bed, he shivered, though he wasn’t sure that it was due to the temperature outside. He dressed up and left the room. He roamed around the castle’s halls until his steps took him outside its walls. His heavy boots sank in the layer of snow that covered the yard and cracked the ice beneath it.

His movements were leading him to the old part of Wintefell like attracted by a magnet, as if a voice was calling him to come down to the Crypts. He found himself in front of the old ironwood door and it was there when he realised that he had forgotten to bring a light with him. In normal conditions there would have been two torches hanging from the iron shackles guarding the door, but now they were missing. He doubted whether to get in or turn away, but eventually he decided that he knew well enough the catacombs to guide himself. So he ventured into the darkness.

He started to climb down the staircase stuck to the wall, one floor after another until he noticed the darkness was less dark and finally he reached one of the landings of the stone staircase. There his eyes started to get used to the dim light that came out the corridor he wanted to go in. ‘Someone must have forgotten their lighting there’ Jon thought.

He turned to enter the corridor and began walking along the statues of his ancestors. He had always felt like a stranger down there, as if he was an invader at the Starks’ sacred place. It hadn’t mattered that he had known his father had been Ned Stark, he had never allowed himself to fully embrace it, though he had wanted it more than anything. Now he knew the truth, the bitter truth, which could have been the reason why he had never felt comfortable around the crypts.

He moved towards Ned Stark’s grave, but he stopped suddenly as he saw someone already waiting in front of it. He stood there a moment and was tempted to leave, but the little body of the girl made him change his mind. He slowly walked until he was positioned right by side Arya and remained quiet until she finally spoke.

“I’ve been coming every night to visit them,” she said pointing with her head to the stony figures of their late family. “This is the only time of the day I am certain there won’t be anybody here…”

“If I disturb you, I can leave,” Jon said whispering.

“…but today,” she continued stressing her words, “I came here looking for you.” Arya turned her head to stare at him. Jon reciprocated her sight and was taken aback by the emotion Arya was showing. “I thought you might be here, though I must admit that I was about to give up...”

“I was pretending to be sleeping,” he tried to joke.

“Jon…” Arya started. However, whatever she had wanted to say never came out her mouth. Jon felt dumb and strange. ‘How is it that I am standing right by Arya’s side and I can’t open myself up?’ he thought to himself.

“All my live the only thing I ever wanted was to be a trueborn son. To be worthy of a mother’s love, to be father’s true son. It turns out I am not; nothing of that is true” he spoke, to Arya’s surprise, who stared at him in disbelief.

“How did it turn out to be not true?” she asked him. “You finally found out who you mother was. You never voiced it, but I always knew it troubled you to think she was none in father’s life, that he never cared about her. That’s been proven false,” she stated. “He loved her more that he did his honour; he lied to everybody for her, to protect you, to keep you save,” she added smiling. “He also loved you as a true father would,” Arya finished.

“But he is not,” Jon replied.

“How is he not? You might have dragons’ blood running through your veins, but so the wolves’ is,” she reassured him.

“The only thing I’ve ever longed was to be a true Stark, Arya.”

“And you are. Your father might have been Rhaegar Targaryen and your parents could have been married and named you Aegon Targaryen. But you will always be a true Stark. You always have, you always will.”

Jon heard his sister, Arya, said those words, but he felt reluctant to acknowledge the fact.

“Look up. Look at the statue we stand in front of. Who was she? She was Lyanna Stark, daughter of Richard and Sansa Stark, she was from the North, she died birthing you and she was a true Stark. Don’t you dare dishonouring her memory by thinking yourself less than that.”

Jon sighed. “Even if the Stark blood runs through my veins…” he continued looking at the she-wolf statue feeling guilty for the words he had uttered, “… I don’t deserve to be king. I’m not Ned’s son. I should…” he tried to explain, but he was interrupted by his sister.

“Don’t even think about it! They did not choose you because you were Eddard Stark’s trueborn son. They chose you because his same blood runs in you, because you’ve pledged your life to protect the North, this family and that hasn’t changed, has it?” she asked him. “They could have chosen Sansa, but they named you their king because they know what you’re capable of, because they trust you!” she told him.

“They will unnamed me the moment they found out…” Jon whispered suddenly realising he was actually scared that that could happen. Not because he wanted the crown, but because they needed to stick together during the Long Night.

“If they found out…” Arya said. Jon looked at her and tilted his head in disagreement. “Sansa and I won’t say a word, unless you want it. Bran…” she continued, “he’s changed, but I believe he won’t say anything if you ask him, same for your friend Sam. This,” she said pointing at Lyanna’s grave, “doesn’t need to be known. You will remain Jon Snow if that’s what you wish, and we can all forget that hideous and repetitive name that is Aegon Targaryen.”

At the mention of the name Jon closed his eyes and turned to leave.

“When I was in Braavos trying to become a faceless-man, Jon,” she resumed her speech. “Do you know what kept me from giving up?” she said holding his arm. Jon was moved as he imagined she wasn’t very used to touch other people. Then she extracted her tiny, but mortal weapon from her belt and handed it to him. Jon grabbed it carefully in awe, remembering the moment, so long ago, when he had given her the sword. “I couldn’t give up Needle. It was the last attachment I had from my former identity, my former life, from Arya Stark…” she said seriously. “Do you happen to know who gave it to me?” she smiled at him and for a moment Jon felt moved and tempted to just accept what she was saying. However, he knew that he had to be realistic and stick to the reality.

“Arya, I know you mean well… but this changes everything,” Jon stated shaking his head and returning the weapon to his sister.

“It changes nothing: we love you, you’re our brother. You are a Stark,” she said holding his hands. “We always knew half of you was something else, like half of us is Tully; and honestly, being half-Targaryen sounds pretty awesome to me,” she joked. “Do you remember the stories Old Nana told us about the Conquest of Westeros? How the all-mighty dragon-lords conquered it with fire and blood?” she asked with shiny eyes. “You are part, half part…” she corrected herself, “of them too, Jon.”

Jon shook his head, rejecting the majestic feeling his sister was trying to sow in him, and pulled apart. “You don’t understand the implications of this, Arya…” he whispered with his husky voice. “What this means to me, to the people, to…” he couldn’t continued.

Arya seemed to understand, however. “You’re not talking about your possible claim over the throne, the Iron Throne I mean, are you?” Jon could feel his sister thorough examination.

“No. I don’t want it,” he replied quickly. “She deserves it…” he explained not daring to pronounce her name, guilty overcoming him.

“You love her, don’t you? You are in love with Daenerys,” his sister stated half-smiling, though it was a sad smile. Jon didn’t reply. He couldn’t, suddenly devoured by the remorse. He did love Daenerys. He had loved Ygritte and he would always treasure everything he had learnt by her side and the time they had spent together, but what he was feeling for Daenerys was something else. He felt he belonged, like the Gods had been moving their strings only for them to finally meet and though he didn’t want to admit it he was afraid that this secret would end that. He was terrified because he didn’t want to lose her, he realised. “Does she love you too?” she asked him.

Jon reflected in the question, but not for a long time. He knew she loved him, not because she had said it, but because her actions had proven him so. He remembered the beam of sadness he had caught in her eyes when they had said their farewells at the beach in Dragonstone some months ago, and he discovered he was refusing to accept the truth not only for him, but for Daenerys. He knew she loved him, but maybe the revelation would end her love.

“Well…” his sister interrupted his thoughts, “it isn’t like she is you sister, is she? If she’s Rhaegar’s sister, she would be your…” she continued, but got interrupted by Jon.

“Do not say it, please,” Jon begged closing his eyes.

“Jon. The Targaryens married each other to keep their blood pure so they could tame the dragons. If I listened properly to the Maesters and I am correct, Daenerys parents were siblings…this sort of relationship… is normal among the members of their family…” Arya explained.

“Many people say that’s what made them mad…” Jon counterattacked, though he wasn’t sure why. He had met two Targaryens throughout his life and neither was insane: Maester Aemon was everything but crazy and Daenerys… she was a bit rough and impulsive, but she wasn’t mad.

“I can see your point: I’ve heard things of you that would make me take you for a madman,” Arya said seriously, but broke up with laughter after the look Jon gave her, half in awe, half pissed off.

“Are you laughing at your king, Lady Arya?” he provoked her with a cheeky smile. Arya laughed and hit him with her elbow.

“I am not…” but she seemed to think her answer better and she remained quiet.

“When did you become so wise, Arya?” Jon asked staring at his sister.

“I’ve grown. I’ve learnt a great deal and I’ve missed my family. So, please,” and Jon noticed it was the first time he had seen the cold mask of indifference Arya wore those days slip away, “when we part tomorrow, you have to promise me that you will follow us as soon as you can. That you won’t let the only God there is catch you,” she added very serious.

“I promise, Arya,” Jon said hugging her. “What God’s that?”

“The God of Death,” Arya replied. “Do you know what we say to him?”

Jon shook his head.

“Not today.”

______________________________________________________________________

 

He stood outside the walls of Winterfell until he could not longer see his family and then he turned over his heels to enter the capital of the North.  
The answer to the King in the North’s ravens soon arrived. By the end of the first day, they had started to receive affirmative replies to his command of evacuating the North. The first one to arrive has been the missive coming from Greywater Watch, signed by Meera Reed on behalf of her disease-ridden father, who had informed him that their men, the cragnomen will start marching to Moat Caitlin to wait them out. Most of the replies were written by people who wouldn’t be able to fight and therefore were heading to White Harbour in order to sail to Dragonstone, as the bulk of the Northern forces, the leaders of the noble and mastery houses and their soldiers, had been stationed in Winterfell since at least two moons ago.

  
The days that followed went by the hustle and bustle of people coming and going, of troops marching in and then marching south, of scared faces leaving their homes for an uncertain future and only during that time could Jon keep his mind busy. At night, Tormund’s company and his ale kept Jon occupied, which prevented him for overthinking about the mess they were in and the looming disaster pending over their heads.  
He had helped to pack and load the supplies for their journey south, every ounce of food and ale carried in heavy wooden carts herded by the cattle and protected by the people that walked besides or on top of them. However that hadn’t been the only thing he had been up too.  
The morning after his family had departed he had gathered the men he could trust that remained, which consisted of Tormund, Beric, Jorah and himself. He needed loyal men, who wouldn’t cast a doubt over his intentions and help him with what he needed to do.

  
Sansa had been working on the reconstruction of the keep, making sure that its walls were impermeable enough just in case the flames set the castle on fire again. Now Jon needed to undo his sister job as he was trying to set the castle as a trap in case the found themselves in the worst of the scenarios.  
The day had ended and his comrades and himself were heading to the Great Hall when he heard Daenerys’ name be spoken. Immediately, he walked towards the group of people who dared to pronounce ill words of her and there he found Lord Glover with some few men that rested over a bench.

  
“I think my sister was clear enough about insulting Queen Daenerys under our roof, Lord Glover…” Jon’s voice raged over.

  
“It’s not it, Your Grace,” the old man quickly added shaking his hands, in fear of his king’s response to another ill word. “I am sorry. I should have never uttered those words. My most sincere apology,” he said in the most humble tone Jon had ever heard he speak. He really looked troubled and Jon relaxed and indicated with his head and eyes to proceed.  
“Where has she gone, Your Grace? Is it true that she went to find the Dothraki?”

  
“Yes, Lord Glover. She went to bring the Dothraki, but it is too late already, so…” Jon tried to explain, but he felt exhausted.

  
“Good,” Lord Glover nodded. “Is it true the size of the horde? Is it true that any Dothraki fights as ten men…?” he continued, but Jon cut him.

  
“I’ve never seen them fighting, but they are twice my size, my Lord,” he replied.

  
“Well… with all due respect, that’s not a greet deed,” he laughed thunderously.

  
Jon was tempted to get mad at the Northernman for his boldness, but he realised he was already used to that kind of jokes, so he just smiled tiredly.  
“Why are you asking all of this? You’ll see them when we reach them down south…” Jon wondered looking at the man.

  
Lord Glover muted all of a sudden and straightened his composure. “Your Grace, I am not marching south,” he replied and before Jon could say anything back he continued. “I know what you commanded, but there has to be someone here in the North, from the North. I understand your decision. I really do,” he said grabbing Jon by the forearm and taking him apart. Jon fixed his eyes in Lord Glover’s and he saw them watering briefly. “How many people have passed through this gates to go down the Kingsroad? Not many,” he then leaned towards Jon and said quietly. “I’m not marching down south and nor any of my men are.”  
Jon gulped and thought about the implication of Lord Glover’s words. It was true that during the first few days some people had arrived in the fortress but the shorter the days became the fewer people past through the doors.

  
“They why is that you won’t march south?” Jon whispered turning to face his Lord.

  
“Because, somebody,” he replied emphasising the last word, “has to stay here, to try to slow them down.”

  
Jon was about to tell Lord Glover that their small resistance would only give them some minutes as much when the big doors opened and Edd and his former Night’s Watch friends, all wounded and enveloped in a icy-dust layer, entered through them.

  
They looked exhausted, on the brink of death and Jon run to catch them before they tumbled down. Tormund, Beric and Jorah imitated him.

  
“Edd, I thought you dead! I am glad to see you’re not,” Jon said in his husky and most emotional voice.

  
“We all are, Jon,” he whispered. “They are here, they’re almost here,” he said and then he fainted.

  
Jon froze while some of his men grabbed Edd to lay him down. He then looked around and saw Tormund, Beric and Ser Jorah staring at him, waiting for his instructions. He needed to think quickly.

  
“Lord Glover,” he yelled, although it was necessary because he was just standing next to him. “You heard this man. The Dead are here,” he stated and Lord Glover straightened up.

  
“What do you want me to do, my king?” he said solemnly.

  
“Follow me,” Jon said. He turned to leave.

  
He guided lord Glover across the enclosed veranda that surrounded the courtyard and thought out their way out he began pointing to the keep’s walls. “Gather your men and start spreading oils or whatever flammable liquid you may find along your way through the main doors and the pits outside the gates,” he commanded. “I've been preparing the fortress for the worst with my men's aid, but you'll need to finish as soon as possible what is left to be done. We don’t have much time, but we should be ready.”

  
Lord Glover nodded and instantly began crying out loud giving instructions.

  
Jon began walking back to the castle. He needed to speak to Edd, at least one more time, but Tormund interrupted him.

  
“What’s the plan for us?” the freeman asked.

  
“We…” Jon tried to answer, but Jorah interrupted him again.

  
“We must go. Now. If we want a chance to survive,” he said grabbing Jon by the forearm and looking straight into his eyes. It had almost sound as a pleading, but Jon was certain Ser Jorah was not begging on his behalf, but on someone else’s.

  
“I know, Jorah,” he answered trying to calm his beating heart. “I don’t intend to die here,” he lied and for a few second he forgot to breath as Ser Jorah searched on his eyes. Jon would have sworn that Jorah could read his mind, but eventually he had realised the pressure of his forearm.

  
Was he ready to die? He had been ready to die before. He had died before. He hadn’t been willing to die in Daenerys’ arms, but now… He did know nothing anymore.He let his instinct guide him and it took him up to the Northerner tower and then he went out to the battlements where he stood, just breathing the frozen air and looking forward trying to catch a glimpse of the Dead. Jon Snow stayed there for a while; Tormund, Beric and Ser Jorah standing closed to him as if the four of them could stand a chance against the impending danger.

  
Jon closed his eyes halfway and focused on the distance. He heard Ser Jorah muttered something, but he didn’t listened.

  
Eventually, he started to feel it: the cold, the fog and the putrefied sensation that came with the Others.

The petrifying silence was broken by a rending cry and Jon woke up from his astonishement. He did not waste more time. He ran towards the closest beacon and he lit it. Immediately the rest of the signal fires around the fortress ignited. Winterfell and the North were warned. Then he went inside and came down the keep.


	10. Daenerys IV

**DAENERYS IV**

They had arrived at the hillside where the ruins of Moat Caitlin where standing. The Dothraki had set camp at the bottom of the hill and Daenerys had decided to climb on foot the slope to meet the people who had lit the fires whose smoke rose into the cold ice of the sunset at the summit of it. She had taken with her two of her bloodriders, Qhono and Soros, and Lady Brianne had insisted that she should come too. Therefore, Jaime Lannister was coming as well. The Hound didn’t said anything but, in the end, he tagged along.

She found herself walking among strange people and she wanted to ask whom kind of ethnic they belonged to. As if he was reading her mind, Ser Jaime, answered to her thoughts.  
“These people are the crannogmen,” he said in a whisper. Daenerys tilted her head to observe them through the light provided by their fires and the torches her bloodriders carried. They weren’t very tall and she could see that their hair was the colour of mud, as they used it to _‘camouflage among the swamps’_ she recalled Jaime’s former words. They were watching them out as they ate what Daenerys suspected was their dinner: strange leaves, vegetables and, if she was not mistaken, frogs.

“Don’t let their small size deceive you. The Crannogmen are very talented hunters and warriors, though many people of the Seven Kingdoms despise them for their tactics: they use some sort of poison that seems harmless, but it ends up killing you once you have forgotten about the injury,” he completed with a grin.

“Well… let’s meet their leader, then,” Daenerys said. “Howland Reed, wasn’t he?” she asked a bit nervous, something that Jaime noticed because he rose a brow, though he didn’t say anything back and simply nodded. They saw a retinue coming out the ruins of the moat approaching them. In the middle, marched a young woman, who could be possibly her age, with black curly hair that reminded her of Jon’s one. She walked firmly and in a very short period of time they were face to face. There they stood for a while, exaniming each other until Daenerys decided to break the silence.

“I am Daenerys, Stormborn, of House Targaryen, and these people,” she said extending her right hand and pointing at the foot of the mountain where her Dothraki horde lit the night with their pyres, “…are one part of my army,” se explained. “We mean you no harm as if I’m correct you are as well part of thr King in the North's ranks in this war that sifts over us.”

“I’m Meera Reed, Your Grace,” the raven-black hair girl answered quickly. “House Reed is House Stark’s vassal house, so yes, we shall fight together against the white walkers.”

Daenerys was taken aback by the way the girl had pronounced the term ‘ _white walkers_ ’, as if it was a certainty she knew well. The lords of Westeros she had encountered until the date, most of them from the North, avoided saying those two words as if they still did not believe the threat was real even though they believed their king unquestionably. Daenerys was not the one to judge. She had not believed it at first even when she had lived a good amount of extraordinary experiences herself.

Daenerys nodded and smiled lightly.

“Are you tired, Your Grace?” Meera Reed asked. “I know that our food might not be very…” Daenerys noticed her hesitancy, “conventional,” she finally said, “but I’m sure I’ll be able to find you and your retinue some fine soup and bread,” she nicely offered.

“That won’t be necessary, Lady Reed.”

“Meera, is fine. Just Meera.”

“We’ve plenty of food, but… I’d like to talk to your father if that’s not a problem. Why isn’t he receiving us?” Daenerys inquired.

Meera Reed’s face darkened a bit. “He’s fallen ill, Your Grace. He’s gotten winter flu,” she explained very serious with her think accent. Daenerys didn’t know about the symptoms and the illness itself because she had spent her whole life in hot lands, but she recalled she had heard his brother Viserys mentioned once a disease called the Great Spring Sickness that had killed kings and tramps equally and by the gasp that Lady Brianne let escape her mouth this one sounded alike.

“How ill is he?” Daenerys asked, following Meera into the ruins, as she had resumed her march back inti the ruina.

“He had just gotten ill when we received King Jon’s first raven. I believed we would make it to White Harbour, but he worsened by the day. I did not know what to do. Then King Jon’s second raven arrived and so it was set,” Meera explained.

“How is he?” the Hound suddenly questioned. Meera looked at him trying to figure the man, but the had asked it in his most polite way so she answered after sighting.

“He’s got pass through the worst I believe. He doesn’t seem to suffer anymore: he’s a goner. The vomit has stopped, but he won’t eat nor drink. He spends his days shivering, cold as ice and raving about laughing trees, wolves and…” she fixed her eyes at Daenerys “dragons…” se muttered.

Daenerys raised her brow more determined than ever to talk to Lord Reed. But something else required her attention.

She felt her dragons over flying the ruins of Moat Caitlin, as they always did when she approached unknown people, but tonight they seemed especially disturbed. They were beating their wings and flying back and forth towards the north. Daenerys examined on the horizon, but the moonlight only displayed a plain of snowline lying ahead under which the king’s road hid. She shook her head and returned her attention to the group.

“I know this may sound very inappropriate, Meera,” she spoke sweetly, “but I’d like to have a word with your father.”

“What ‘bout?” Meera spat, and Daenerys sensed her bloodriders move forward. She instantly made a sign that meant it was all right and they obeyed. Nevertheless, Meera had noticed their movements, so she softened her tone when she resumed her speech. “I mean no offense, Your Grace, but he is very ill indeed. It wouldn’t be safe for you,” she explained.

She hesitated for a moment. It was true that she could not afford to turn ill under any circumstances in that specific time. However, she needed to know if everything people had ever said about the madness in her family was true. She needed to know if Rhaegar had indeed defiled and raped Lyanna Stark and thus was the ultimate responsible for his family downfall, alongside their father’s atrocities. She needed to know if everything the Targaryens had suffered during the war and after Robert’s ascension to the throne was somehow deserved. Howland Reed had the answers to those questions. He had been by Ned Stark’s side when they found Lyanna, so he was the last piece of the jigsaw. Furthermore, Howland Reed probably knew who Jon’s mother had been, had she ever had a name, and just for that reason the risk was worthy.

“I know it’s risky, but I need to speak to him,” she commanded and the effect worked because Meera nodded gently and tilted her head indicating the way to her father tent.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys grabbed the fabric that served as the door of the hut and she drew it. Inside the closed space she found a dark-haired man lying in an improvised bed, covered by a light blanket, though the man did not seem to notice it. He had his eyes closed and his skin reflected the light of the pending lamp overhead. However, its reflection lacked of warmness: it looked pale and bluish as if the man had turned already into a block of ice.

Meera passed over her and went to grab her father’s hands that were clasping a piece of blanket.

“Dada,” she said, “are you awake?”

Suddenly, Howland Reed opened his eyes, but instead of fixing them on his daughter he turned his head and looked straight right into Daenery’s lilac eyes. She was shortly taken aback by the intensity of his gaze, but it only lasted a moment until he murmured quietly ‘aye’.

“Queen Daenerys…” Meera continued, “Targaryen would like to speak to you, father,” she explained, but Daenerys went farther on.

“…alone,” she added.

Howland Reed nodded and then his daughter left the hut. Daenerys stepped forward, but before she could approach him, he stopped her.

“You better grab one of those, girl,” he said pointing with his head to a basket of what seemed to be cloths soaked in a sanitizer infusion. She leaned to catch one and placed it above her mouth and nose to speak to him. Only then she went to him.

“What is it, Your Grace?” he asked. “I doubt you’ve travelled half the known world to grant farewell to the old lord of the swamplands,” he joked.

She grinned. “I’m afraid you’re right, my lord. I only learnt from your existence a few days ago.”

Howland Reed cracked in laughter though he soon had to stop as the cough weakened him.

“One is not as popular as the Mother of Dragons.”

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me, then you’re in advantage.”

“Who in the seven hells haven’t heard bout you and your dragons on these days?” he teased. He murmured something else, but Daenerys could not catch it because once again the cough was too intense. When he had recovered, he looked back at her and asked her with a sad smile what did she wanted.

Daenerys reflected for a second. She hadn’t expected to meet the lord anytime soon. Actually, these last days had run as if everything was just unclosing before her eyes, but she was not going to waste the opportunities the Gods, any God if they existed, were giving her.

“I’d like to know what’s true about by brother Rhaegar?” she asked hesitantly, not really sure she wanted to hear the reply.

“He was loved by the people who knew him and he was said to be a very educated man both in Arts and Arms. However, I'd say he… he was not a very honourable man, as far as I’m concerned, Your Grace,” he stated and Daenerys held her breath. “Dishonouring your own wife in front of all that people… Defying two great houses with your actions… I’m not sure that could be called honourable,” he explained.

“So it is true? He kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark?” she asked for a confirmation.

Howland Reed sighted. “No. He loved her,” and he sadly smiled “…and she loved him back,” he stated.

Daenerys breathed again, relieved, though it made things far more complicated than they were.

“He never kidnapped her. I saw the shining in Lyanna Stark’s eyes when he proclaimed her Queen of Beauty and Love placing the crown of blue roses on her lap, and I was there myself when they decided to run away, together. Seven kingdoms bleeded because they run away from their duties.”

Daenerys could not believe her ears. Everything had been a lie. Rhaegar might have dishonoured his wife Elia, but he had never raped Lyanna and thus Robert’s rebellion was a farse. She noticed her rage beginning to rise inside of her and she forgot to hold the cloth covering her mouth, which dropped to the floor.

“Then why wouldn’t you say something about it?” she requested to know.

“I told Ned Stark, but he couldn’t stop his father and brother to travel down south to face the Mad King and you know what your father did to them,” he explained tired. “The war for the North was not only about Lyanna anymore, but to repair the damage, girl.”

“What happened to Lyanna? Why did not she return to the North once my brother died? I’m sure the usurper would have taken her undoubtedly,” she said in spite.

“When Ned and I went south to rescue her,” he continued, “we found her in a placed called the Tower of Joy; she was guarded by…” but Daenerys interrupted him alarmed by his words. The same words Jaime Lannister’s had spoken.

“In Dorne?” she confirmed.

“Yes, Your Grace, the Tower of Joy is in Dorne,” he explained and resumed his explanation. “… she was guarded by most of the greatest kingsguards at that time, including…”

“Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the last man to wield _Dawn,”_ she theatrically announced as the blood ran through her veins and the air speeded out her lungs. “I know that,” she urged him. “But why did not you bring her back with you?”

Howland Reed’s eyes suddenly went unfocused as if he was remembering something and his voice darkened and once he spoke again it seemed he was not speaking to her.

_“I promised you, Ned, as you promised her. But he must know. He deserves to know… the dragons are back, the stags long gone.”_

“Lord Reed?” Daenerys moved her hand to touch him, but before she could do it, he came back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” he said shaking his head. “What were you saying?” he excused himself.

“I’d asked you about Lyanna. Why did not she come back home with you?” she asked quietly.

“She was very weak and in a very difficult condition to travel. I believe that’s the reason it took Rhaegar so long to join the fight. He did not want to leave her side. When Ned defeated Ser Arthur Dayne he climbed the steps where his sister was kept and there she was found, bleeding out. Lord Eddard placed _Dawn_ on top of the bed just in time to lean over his sister to catch her last breaths. She then passed away in his brother arms from childbirth.”

Daenerys realised she was crying, she was moved by the love story, but also for what it meant, because now she knew and she understood.

She watched Howland observing her as attempting to reach to her, trying somehow to transmit the peace he had finally found after unveiling the last secret he had kept for his dearests friend Ned. Daenerys held his hands pushed by an impulse and then she thanked him in silence as one teardrop descended through his right cheek.

“Your Grace... May you call my daughter now?” he requested, “I believed it’s time to say goodbye,” he stated, his eyes watering.

Daenerys nodded and then she turned to leave, but then she remembered she hadn’t asked on of the question she had carried with her. With everything undisclosed about the rebellion and the downfall of her family she had forgotten to ask him about Jon’s mother, though something in her made her sense something weird, like her head's unconscious part was trying to reach to her conscious one to tell her something, being the latter reluctant to let the former in. She had already reached the door when she gave him a last look and with her pounding heart she asked “Lord Reed? Who’s Jon Snow mother?”

“Ned Stark was the most honourable man I’ve ever met in my entire life. I think you already know the answer to that question, Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys rushed out of the hut and the ruins trying to breath fresh air again as she felt she was suffocating. The revelations had had a bigger impact on her than she had expected. She had wanted to know how true was everything about the war that had ended her family's reign, but she had come out of the meeting with Lord Reed more confused than she had come in. She was a whirl of feelings at the moment and she was crying but she was not sure about the reason. She was no longer the last one of them, she was no longer alone, 'although' she thought to herself smiling 'she hadn't been alone since she had met him'. Everything made sense, their connection, the sense of belonging and the dragons... Bran's sentence obtained a new meaning now: " _th_ _e dragons know, do you?"_ he had said. 'I do, I do,' she muttered. 

"Your Grace!" she heard Lady Brianne's voice calling for her. She turned to see the knight running towards her. 

She rubbed the tears from her face using her right cuff and she put on her queenly mask. "What is it? What's the hurry?"'

"Your're Grace, I'm sorry to disturb you, but this is important." Daenerys saw the rest of her retinue running after the giant woman to reach their position. 

"We've been talking to the men around here because we've observed the camp seems to have been set for a long time now."

Daenerys could not understand where she was heading. 

"A second raven came from Winterfell a week ago more or less. From King Jon." 

Daenerys' heart stopped. 

"The wall has fallen," Jaime Lannister said. 

"Those cunts are here" the Hound summed up. 


End file.
